#and there's nothing wrong with smaller communities of course those rock

[madamemiz]

sad: falling out of a hyperfixation

tragic: watching your beloved friends and mutuals fall out of the hyperfixation while you're still in it

[delimeful]

(dont) take this the wrong way (5)

warnings: injury, blood mentions, past psychological&emotional&physical abuse, ptsd, sickness

-

Virgil woke up, which was only unsurprising for the few moments it took him to 1. realize that his head was pounding and 2. remember the two very large reasons why.

His eyes flew open, and he found himself half-submerged in a shallow pool of cool water, surrounded by flat ledges of dry rock. The sound of ocean waves lapping against the cliffside echoed around the cavern, which was dimly lit by overhead cracks in the ceiling.

In one of these beams of paltry light, Logan was slumped over on his side, glasses askew. Virgil’s relief at seeing him was instantly overshadowed by terror at what could have happened to the human after Virgil had gone and gotten his skull knocked against rock.

His headache worsened, and he lifted a hand to press against the sore spot, pausing when he found more of those stiff bandage strips wrapped around his head.

The soft sloshing of water seemed to be enough to startle Logan into wakefulness, and the human brightened slightly at the sight of him. “Virgil. It’s good to see you awake. Are you feeling any pain or nausea?”

“What happened?” Virgil replied in lieu of the real answer, which was ‘everything hurts’. “Where are we, I thought we were dead for sure—!”

“Take a few deep breaths,” Logan advised, shuffling closer to the pool and offering a hand. Virgil took it gratefully. “We’re not currently in any danger. I believe we’re at the home of the seal-hybrid mer, if—“

“We’re what?!” Virgil’s voice dropped to a horrified double pitch, his grip on Logan’s hand instantly turning crushing.

“Ow,” Logan said in a pointed monotone. Virgil eased up before his claws could turn the human’s palm into bloody ribbons. “Let me finish, please. I’ve managed to work out a rudimentary method of communication, and as far as I know, we’re not currently at risk.”

“From the giant mer-eating monsters that literally kidnapped us, you mean?”

“Yes, that was the potential risk I was referring to.” Logan pulled Virgil further upright, reaching out with his free hand. “More importantly, you’ve been out for some time. Will you allow me to take a look at your injury?”

Virgil shuffled a little closer, allowing the hand to make contact with him. He had traversed currents of all temperatures, but in chilled still waters like this, Logan’s warmth was more than welcome. “I dunno how that’s more important than our inevitable, rapidly-approaching deaths, but sure, fine. Knock yourself out.”

“I will not? You are already dealing with a likely concussion, I see no reason to double that number.” Logan squinted at him like he was concerned that the head wound had taken a worse toll than he’d thought.

“No, it’s-- it’s just an expression. Don’t actually pass out, or I’ll freak out.”

“Ah,” Logan acknowledged, his hand twitching like he wanted to grab something before returning to carefully peeling the bandages away. “My apologies. Colloquialisms are not my strong suit.”

Virgil blinked back at him, because five syllable words were a little much even when he wasn’t concussed. “No worries?”

Logan continued to gently probe the back of his head. A sharp pang made him jerk away with a muted hiss, his vision blurring with pain as the sharp motion only agitated all his other cuts. He waved off Logan’s apology before it was fully formed. “S’fine. What’s the damage?”

“The bleeding has stopped, which is a good sign. It’s swelled significantly, but the cool water is hopefully helping reduce that as well. The best course of action now is for you to rest and recover in a dark, quiet place, ideally for at least two full days.”

“Yeah, but that’s not happening unless we get away first,” Virgil shot back, irritably twitching his fins down as Logan rewrapped the injury. The human let out a slow breath.

“Virgil. I believe the situation isn’t as dire as you think.” He settled back on his heels, back stiff as he spoke. “Our captors have shown no signs of aggression or hunger, even with the significant bleeding from your head wound. It’s possible--”

“It’s not possible!” Virgil cut him off, scowling fiercely. “That doesn’t mean anything. They’re playing some kind of sick game the way they always do, and if you let them trick you, you’re going to lose!”

Logan looked back at him inquisitively, still not getting it. “What evidence are you basing this off of? I was under the impression that you’ve spent only marginally more time in their company than me. Have they attempted to trick you in the past?”

“Yes, no, I mean--,” Virgil groaned, pulling at his bangs. “They don’t have to say it. That’s just how giants like them operate. We’re smaller, they can do what they want to us, we don’t get a say in it. You escape or you die.”

“Yet, we’ve been in their admittedly less-than-ideal care for over 24 hours, and they haven’t hurt us or made any indications they intend to hurt us.” Logan gestured expansively, his hand a bit wobbly. “That’s a rather long time to pretend, and for what purpose? If it was what they desired, we have been easy targets for a meal from the moment they relocated us.”

A rather long time to pretend. Virgil swallowed down a hysterical laugh, feeling dizzy. If a day of false niceties was all it took to buy his trust, he’d have never gotten away from his first encounter with a giant mer. “You’re— you’re human. You don’t know anything about this.”

Logan frowned. “I may be human, but that does not make me an idiot. Even with a language barrier, body language and expression are invaluable tools for communication, and I’ve been doing very little but observe them while you were unconscious. Virgil, if you just tried talking to them—“

“No!” he snapped, curling in even as his fins flared wide and threatening. He wouldn’t do this again, wouldn’t be subjected to the world’s most torturous game of catch and release, wouldn’t be lured back into too-tight hands by false promises and meaningless apologies. He couldn’t do that again.

Measured, rhythmic tapping on the back of his hand slowly brought him back to the present, cool air and Logan’s steady voice by his side. His throat was closed-up-too-tight, his gills too far out of the water to switch lungs— but the rhythm was counted out over and over, breathe in, hold, and out.

“There you go,” Logan said as Virgil took in another long, shuddering drag of air. “Well done.”

The air smelled like iron. He realized that somewhere in the past few minutes, he’d dug his claws into the soft sides of the human’s hand, drawing blood. He pulled away as though he’d been burned.

Logan didn’t even twitch, still searching his gaze intently. “Are you with me?”

Virgil nodded stiffly. “Yeah, I— fuck, I’m sorry.”

“No, I shouldn’t have pushed you. I didn’t realize— but I should have.” A deep, resolved breath. “It’s okay. I’ll find you a way out that doesn’t involve interacting with them.” Logan’s gaze went distant and hazy with thought, and Virgil hesitantly drew closer, pulling a bandage free to wrap around his bleeding hand.

… He was really warm. Clammy, too, and he’d been sitting in a cold, wet cave for hours, hadn’t he? Had been completely drenched for even longer.

“You’re sick,” Virgil said, and Logan took a moment too long to refocus on him. How had it taken him so long to notice? “That’s why you need me to talk to them. You need to get home.”

“My illness is no more severe than your injuries,” he deflected, adjusting his glasses clumsily. “Right now, the priority is getting you away from triggering circumstances. If my suspicions are correct, I will be fine regardless.”

Right. His suspicions, based on his willingness to trust his own abductors. He’d trusted Virgil, too, back in those tunnels. He’d known that he might be abandoned and he’d freed Virgil anyways, taken his hand anyways. Gotten hurt for his trouble.

He’d get hurt worse if Virgil left him here.

“... Yeah,” Virgil said, tucking the edge of the bandage in carefully. “But you should sleep for now. We both should. You said they haven’t done anything yet, right?”

“Yes, but…,” Logan’s brow was furrowed slightly, as though he knew something was off, but wasn’t quite sure what. “I mean, you do need rest. If… If you’re sure.”

“I am,” Virgil replied, curling against the edge of the pool and pillowing his head on his arms to hide their shaking. “Get some sleep, Specs.”

—

It was early morning when Patton woke to the splash of something small dropping into the water from his air room.

The room wasn’t overly large, being designed only for occasional use when he needed some extra oxygen in his system. It was also quite a few caves up above his sleeping den, but with two delicate little guests staying over, his senses were on high alert. He disentangled from Roman, who had been clinging to him for extra warmth, waking the shark mer in the process.

“Mwha’huh?” he asked groggily, and Patton chuckled at the way one side of his hair had been pressed into a tangled bundle.

“I think they may be awake!” he reported quietly, and Roman perked right up. They had originally hovered in the room over the two of them, only leaving after the human-- busy tending to the tiny mer’s wounds-- had gotten too fed up and used charades to shoo them away, leaving them with nothing to do but sit around and think about how badly they’d messed up. As such, they were both more than eager to start fixing things.

Upon popping up into the air room, however, they found only the human, lying completely still apart from the slow rise and fall of his chest. Deep in sleep, with an empty pool at his side.

Roman and Patton exchanged a panicked look, and ducked back underwater to search through his home and see where, exactly, the injured mer had gone.

It didn’t take long to spot him. The mer had practically every fin and frill puffed out, even the ones that were still injured. The threat display as eye-catching as they got.

He was hovering in the opening of a vent crevice, one that helped circulate seawater through the caves. It was small enough that if he vanished through it, they wouldn’t be able to stop him or see where he was headed. He knew it, too, staring them down with sharp defiance rather than absolute terror.

“Don’t move,” he said, as though they hadn’t both frozen at the sight of him. “I’m going to-- to make a deal with you.”

“A deal?” Roman asked, and received a sharp, wild-eyed glare for his troubles.

“Yeah, a deal. The other one is sick,” a slight jerk of the head toward the air room, “so he won’t last long here. Probably already too far gone to even play a single game.”

Patton was torn between concern (the human was sick?) and confusion. Game?

“But I’m fine. I’ve had much worse than this.” The mer drifted back slightly, closer to the crevice. “If I leave now, you’ll never find me, and then Lo-- the human will die, and you won’t have anything to play with.”

A creeping sense of dread overcame Patton. He still didn’t know what was going on, but it was sounding more and more like something was seriously wrong here.

“So, a deal. You take the human back to where you found him, and I’ll stay-- I’ll stay here,” his voice cracked painfully, but he ignored it, staring at them with a desperate sort of intensity. “With you. I won’t try to get away or anything. I-- I swear.”

“Get away?” Roman asked, his voice going high with the same sort of horror that currently swamping Patton. The mer ducked back at the sound, gaze flitting between them, some of that terror returning.

“I will! I’ll leave, if you-- you can either have one or none, that’s the deal, I’m not kidding. I’m not!” His fins flared wider, blood beginning to leak from some of them. “He’s human anyways, he can barely even swim, you don’t want him--”

“Kiddo,” Patton cut in urgently, raising his hands peacefully and trying not to wince when the mer flinched, “if he’s sick, of course we’ll take him back to where he can get help. No deals necessary, okay?”

The little guy didn’t look reassured at all. “I want to watch. I have to see you put him back, where other humans will find him, or else the deal’s off.”

He didn't believe them. Patton exchanged a helpless look with Roman, who finally nodded.

“Of course,” the shark mer said, “You are more than welcome to accompany us back to the mainland where Patton found him, provided that you’re not exacerbating your injuries.”

The mer hissed at him, a tiny, reedy sound. “And whose fault is that?”

“Irresponsible human fishing vessels?” Roman tried, and then wilted under both Patton and the mer’s looks when the joke fell flat. He cleared his throat. “It is, of course, mine. I wanted to apologize for the way I manhandled you before. Regardless of my intentions, it was unbefitting behavior, and it hurt you. I am truly sorry.”

He bowed with a little flourish, moving slower than normal. The mer stared at his bowed head apprehensively, and then covered the look up with a distrustful scowl.

“If you’re sorry, get Logan out of this place before he gets any worse,” he finally replied, and Patton nodded and went to retrieve the human-- Logan, presumably.

Glancing over his shoulder as he left, he could see the way the tiny mer’s fins had settled just slightly, not quite as frantically overextended as before.

It was a start.

[silkling]

Hi Silkling, could you please write a TFP story where Sierra discovers the Autobot's secret and joins up with Team Prime? TFP never really did much with her, and I think that a shame. I think Smokescreen would make a good partner for her.

Absolutely! Great to see you again in my ask box! :D your last prompt was super fun to write to, so I’m looking forward to this one! Now, I admit, I never paid much attention to Sierra, and the show didn’t give us a lot to work with, so I’m going to have to come up with some of her characterization. And I agree. So I’m mashing her with Smokescreen. It’s gonna a be great. I love Smokescreen very much! I even have a whole AU of my own for him. He’s a tiny happy dumbass and since Sierra has basically no canon personality, I can make her be his long-suffering but still very fond best friend.

———————————————————————————————————

Sierra had been having a good day. Emphasis on the word had. It was the weekend. She had packed a small picnic, grabbed her favorite book, and hopped on her bike. She’d ridden out to the popular hiking trails, intending to take a short hike and finding a nice place to spend the afternoon with a her novel and her snacks. The sun was out, the weather was great, and she had nothing to do today. It was perfect. So, of course, the laws of the universe demanded that something go wrong.

‘Murphy is a cruel bastard and and I’m going to punch him in the face when I see him in the afterlife.’ She thought viciously, staring up at the hulking titan that had just crushed her lunch and bike under a single massive metal foot with a sense of numb disbelief. ‘At least I still have the book.’ She ignored how the thought echoed with a note of hysteria as she shoved said book into the messenger bag over her shoulder.

“Are you Sierra O’Niell?”

She was only slightly surprised when the massive robot spoke. Because why wouldn’t the giant robot that had just moments ago been a jet be able to speak? Honestly, what even was her life at this point. She was more concerned with the fact that the thing knew her name. Her initial instinct was the demand how it knew her name. But she’d seen the movies. She knew that would only confirm it’s suspicions.

“Who?” she forced herself to ask instead, surprising herself with how steady her voice was. It was the shock, she told herself. It had to be. It was making her emotionally numb. “What are you?”

The robot seemed startled, before it snarled something that was most definitely a curse. It started speaking, though not to her, and it took Sierra a moment to realize it must have been talking over some sort of built in communication system. “-wrong human, Soundwave! This pathetic fleshling you pointed out to me doesn’t even know who I am talking about.” It paused. “What do you mean it’s not the wrong human? I just told you-“ it cut itself off. “Ah. I see.” A sinister grin twisted at metallic features. “Thank you, Soundwave. I will return with my prize shortly.”

Oh, Sierra did not like the sound of that.

Sure enough, the robot turned to face her when it was done. “It seems you lied to me, little fleshling.” it sneered. “My associate tracked the signal of your personal communications device. You humans never go without it, I’ve been told.”

She blinked. “You hacked my phone?” she sputtered, and oops, she’d just confirmed her identity. ‘Stupid, Sierra.’

It’s face twisted into a cruel expression of glee. She did not like it. “Indeed.” It began bending down, and then a large hand was reaching towards her. “You shall be coming with me, human. Soundwave has seen how Jackson Darby is fond of you.” it purred. “You will make a lovely bargaining chip against that pathetic human runt and his Autobot protectors.”

And wait, this was because of Jack? How did he come into all this? If this thing was after her because of him, that had to mean he knew about it and it’s…friends. Did robots have friends? She didn’t know. And wait, Autobot?

She stiffened, scrabbling away from the large metallic hand, shunting those questions to the back of her mind to be answered later. Escape the terrifying metal monster now, murder Jack for pulling her into this later. Clearly though, the robot disliked her attempt to flee because it only growled and stepped towards her again.

That’s when she heard the roaring of a powerful engine. It made the robot pause too, and they both looked to where the sound came from. Then, over the crest of a hill, a white and blue sports car came flying in. It had red accents and bold 38s painted onto its doors. Sierra was impressed. She was no car person, but even she liked this one. Only, the car started breaking apart once it hit the ground, unfolding and growing into the form of, you guessed it, another robot.

Sierra despaired for her luck. ‘Murphy is going to die a second time for this. He’d better be prepared.’ She thought with vicious hysteria.

Except, to her great surprise, the new robot didn’t try to help capture her. No, instead it rammed full force into the tall jet robot that had tried to snatch her up. Said jet yelped before quickly getting back to its feet. Sierra heard the should of metal and gears shifting, and saw the newcomer’s large hand change to some sort of weapon, though not one she could recognize.

“Terrorizing humans now, Starscream?” it taunted. “Can’t say I’m surprised, you always were one to sink so low.”

The first robot, Starscream, apparently, snarled in outrage. “Pathetic Autobot!” it roared, and oh, so this newcomer was Autobot?

Except, from the two names she’d heard already, that didn’t sound like the type of name these robots seemed to have. She did notice the little face badges they wore, the white bot bearing a red one proudly on its shoulders while the jet robot wore a smaller, pointier face on its chest. So maybe those had something to do with the whole ‘Autobot’ thing? Hell if she knew. Sierra was clever, and she’d always been good at puzzles and mystery solving, but she didn’t have enough information for this whole…thing.

“I’m not the one who’s picking on defenseless humans, ‘Con!” the car robot barked, smirking at the skinnier jet.

The jet only snarled, lifting an arm that she was just noticing had a freaking missile attached to it, and the white robot stilled briefly, before shooting her a frantic look and oh, would you look at that, she seemed to be right in the blast radius of the missile, and oh god she was going to die-

Except, there was that shifting sound again, but much larger, and then car robot was leaping towards her. It hit the ground in car form, it’s driver door open as it slid sideways in her direction, and then she was swept up into it and the door slammed shut. Tires squealed, and then they were peeling away to the sound of a missile screaming and impacting where they had been a half second before. The jet roared in outrage, but the car robot was speeding straight towards civilization, and it seemed to want to avoid that because when she glanced at the rear view mirror she saw it leap into the sky and transform before flying away.

Sierra slowly sat up from her ungainly sprawl, pulling the seatbelt across her chest on reflex before sitting back against the driver’s seat and wheezing. Her heartbeat, which she only just noticed had been thundering wildly in her chest, started to slowly calm, and she had to force herself to take deep, even breaths to keep herself from hyperventilating.

Now, Sierra wasn’t an irrational girl. She was among the top students of all her classes, she was smart, she knew a lot about various topics, and she had a good understanding of how people worked. She was clever, she knew she had a good head on her shoulders. She kept some of her interests closer to her chest, and she played the good, polite, quiet girl for the adults, because she wasn’t without manners, thank you very much. All that meant, though, was that she wasn’t prone to screaming in terror and running like a madman when she was freaked out by something. She would prefer to understand something rather than be irrationally terrified of it.

This, though? This was a bit much, even for her. As her heartbeat calmed, a sense of nausea built in her throat. “Excuse me, robot?” she squeaked. She wasn’t even sure if she could communicate with it while it was in car mode, but it was worth a shot.

“It’s Smokescreen.”

What?

“What?”

“My name is Smokescreen. Not “robot”.”

It sounded miffed. Which, okay. That was fair. If someone called her just “human” she’d probably be upset too. Hell, she had been upset when that other one, Starscream, had called her a “fleshling”. Smokescreen’s voice also sounded very male, and she paused before asking.

“And you’re not an “it” either, then?”

“No, I’m a mech.” A pause. “Uh, a male, by your definitions.”

“Okay. Smokescreen. Well, I’m Sierra, and as grateful as I am for your rescue you should really, really stop and let me out. Humans don’t handle extreme stress very well and I’m about to be sick.”

“Sick?”

Oh god, did robots even get sick?

“I’m about to vomit. Which means I am very close to expelling internal body waste, and it will be right in your seats if you don’t let me out so I can barf behind some rocks.” she informed him tightly, fighting down a gag.

There was a brief moment if silence as Smokescreen seemed to process her words, before he turned off the side of the road, drove behind some rocks, and popped open the door. “Please don’t be sick in me.” Oh, now he sounded sick. Sierra felt a little bad.

She didn’t say anything to that, instead stumbling out of the car and out of sight, before promptly bending over and tossing her breakfast. She gagged on bile, and after a moment of pause to make sure there was nothing left in her stomach, she stood and made her way back to where Smokescreen was waiting. She pulled her water bottle from her bag, taking a sip and washing out her mouth with it before spitting it to the side, and then she proceeded to drink everything left in the bottle. She tucked it away, turning to her impromptu ride, and opened her mouth to speak, when-.

“Oh slag.” He beat her to the punch.

She was confused, recognizing that as a curse of some sort, and then she heard the beeping from his radio.

“Um, hold on for a minute, alright? I gotta take this.” He sounded anxious, and didn’t give her a chance to answer before there was a click as he did just that.

She heard muffled noises over the radio, though she couldn’t make out the words being said.

“Um, yeah. There was a ‘Con signal. I was close so I checked it out.”

More radio noises, angry sounding ones.

“I know, I know! But I was closest and no one would pick up their comm. so I thought I should st least check it out! It was a good thing too, Starscream was there and he was about to snatch up a human!”

A pause, and then an explosion of garbled noise from the radio. Sierra got the feeling that Smokescreen was wincing.

“Well what was I supposed to do? Let her be taken? Plus she’d already seen him so it wasn’t like seeing me was going to do much damage!”

A growling noise, followed by a hiss of static.

“Yes, Ratchet. I know. And I am sorry, alright! I know I went against code again but if I had waited a human would’ve been in Deception hands and as new as I am to this planet, even I know that’s bad!”

Wait, planet? Was this giant ass robot an actual alien? That…honestly made sense. With that day she’d had, she wasn’t even surprised. Smokescreen was still having his discussion with…whoever was on the other end.

“Yes, I’ll bring her back to base. I’m not going to apologize for saving her, though.”

More angry static.

“Yeah yeah. I get it.”

He sounded tired, defeated. Sierra felt bad, and wondered what was being said to make him sound like that when he’d been so bright before.

“No, you don’t need to send a ground bridge. I’m close to the base anyway. I’ll be there soon.”

There was a click as Smokescreen disconnected from whoever called him, and then she could tell he was talking to her when he spoke next. “Mind hopping in? I gotta bring you back to base. The boss can explain everything. I promise you won’t be hurt or anything.”

Sierra hesitated for a moment, then sighed. She knew she probably shouldn’t, but at this point what was the harm? Besides, her gut instinct was telling her that, based on what that Starscream character had said about Jack, she wouldn’t have to worry about being hurt. Not if Darby spent all his free time around these weird alien robots and came back fine. Mind decided, she slipped into the car’s open door. It shut on its own, and she buckled herself in once more.

“Thanks.” He sounded grateful. And then he was driving off.

He wasn’t saying anything, and neither was Sierra, and she let herself be alone with her thoughts. They drove for a while, and Sierra let herself enjoy the landscape that passed by Smokescreen’s window. He really was a nice ride, she mused. Sleek and fast, and his engine purred quietly as he drove along the highway. She didn’t know much about cars, but she knew his car mode was a good one.

Soon enough, they were coming towards a large mesa. Smokescreen drove right toward its side, not even slowing as he approached, Sierra tensed, about to protest, when a previously invisible door opened in the rock face. She shut her mouth, her eyes blowing wide. Oh. That explained that. Their base was hidden in plain sight. Which…she supposed was fitting, for alien robots who disguised themselves as cars and jets. Smokescreen took them through a tunnel, and then they were coming into a large central chamber. Sierra peeked out if the window to see two other robots there. One, stocky and painted in red and white. The other…was absolutely massive. He towered above the red and white bot, and she had a feeling he’d tower over Smokescreen too. He was broad as he was tall, with wide shoulders and a heavy looking chest, his metal armor painted in red and blue. Sierra didn’t know how she knew, but she just knew that this large one was a he, a mech, as Smokescreen had said.

The door at her side popped open, and after brief hesitation she unbuckled herself and stood up. There was that sound of transformation behind her, and she glanced back to see Smokescreen rising to his feet in his robot mode. Then a voice spoke and she snapped her head around to see the large bot speaking.

“Greetings, young one. My name is Optimus Prime. My companion is Ratchet, and you have already met Smokescreen.”

Ratchet. That’s who Smokescreen had been talking to earlier. “I’m Sierra.” she said after a moment. “Sierra O’Niell.”

Optimus tilted his head downwards in her direction. “May I inquire why Starscream was attempting to abduct you, if you know?”

“You’re very polite.” she remarked dryly. “He said something about wanting to use me to get to Jack Darby, so that he could in turn use Jack to get to the “Autobots”. I’m guessing that’s you guys?”

Optimus shared a look with Ratchet, then looked back at her. “Indeed. Myself and my team are Autobots. Starscream is a Decepticon. Our factions are enemies, I am afraid.” he explained. “We are not from your world, Sierra O’Niell. We hail from a planet called Cybertron. Our two factions were at War on our home, and that War destroyed our world. The Deceptions came here, searching for energon, and we have followed them to keep them from destroying your planet and it’s people in their quest for it.”

Sierra turned that over. She’d guessed they weren’t from Earth, so that wasn’t a surprise. The rest of the information was new, though. And appreciated. “What’s energon? And how does Jack fit into all this?”

Optimus sighed. “Energon is an energy source, and the very lifeblood of every Cybertronian.” he explained. “It is a natural resource that was once common on our home, and somehow Earth too produces it in great abundance.” he explained. “Jackson, Miko, and Raphael became involved with us by accident. They were seen with my Autobots when they mistakenly were pulled into a battle with the Decepticons, and the Decepticons assumed they were our allies. In order to protect them, we took them under our watch and guard to ensure they could not be harmed.”

So, Esquivel and Nakadai were part of this too. She shouldn’t be surprised. She’d seen the cars that picked those two up, now that she thought of it. Speaking of which….

“Jack’s motorcycle is an Autobot, isn’t it? And Miko and Raphael’s cars?”

Optimus hummed. “Indeed. Arcee, Bumblee, and Bulkhead were the ones to initially partner with and save the children in that first encounter. After they were brought into the fold, it made only sense to assign them as their Autobot guardians.”

Sierra nodded as she took that all in. Then she frowned. “I’m involved now too, aren’t I? I would have been involved regardless, if the Decepticons were really after me, but Smokescreen saving me just means my involvement is going to be more pleasant than it otherwise would have been.”

Optimus and Ratchet shared yet another look, before casting their gazes to Smokescreen. The white bot fidgeted under their combined stares, head ducking and looking uncomfortable. “While we are not pleased that the youngling acted on impulse and charged into battle against protocol, we are pleased that he saved your life, young Sierra.” Optimus said after a moment.

Sierra blinked. “Youngling.” she repeated in confusion. Then she narrowed her eyes. “You’re not getting him into trouble for saving me, are you?” she asked heatedly. The very idea insulted her.

Optimus twitched as if startled, then rumbled a soft chuckle. “Youngling, yes. It is a term used by Cybertronians to refer to those of us who are not yet fully grown. Smokescreen is the equivalent of a human teenager.” he explained. “And worry not. In this instance, we can overlook the breach in regulations. It would send a poor message to punish a bot for upholding the Autobot creed.”

Sierra relaxed at that, nodding. Then she narrowed her eyes. “I’m going to want to have a discussion with you later about why you’re letting teenagers fight in a war, but I know now isn’t the time.” she said threateningly.

Both older bots startled back and her tone and words, and Smokescreen squeaked from behind her. She turned and drew a harsh line across her mouth before he could say anything, and she watched as he stared, slack-jawed, before closing his mouth with an audible clack. That done, she returned her attention to the apparent leader. There was one more thing she wanted settled.

“You said the others got guardians, right?”

A nod.

“Well, if I’m going to need one, and something tells me I will, then I want this one.” she jerked her thumb over her shoulder at Smokescreen.

Optimus’s eyes narrowed in what she realized was a faint smile. “If Smokescreen agrees, then I have no issues with that.” he hummed. “All I ask is that you remain here until our liaison with the human government arrives. Agent Fowler will want to discuss some matters with you before you return home.”

Sierra blinked. So the government knew about all this. That was good to know. It meant she wouldn’t get in trouble for conspiring with aliens if it ever came to light. She could also understand why they kept this whole thing a secret, even if governments hiding things from the public wasn’t always a good thing. In this case, it was a good thing.

“As long as I’m home before my curfew.” she agreed.

Another bow of that great head, and then Optimus was turning to stride away. Presumably to make contact with this Fowler. That left her and Smokescreen with Ratchet.

The stocky bot glanced at them, then turned to that odd console she’d noticed earlier. “Smokescreen will show you around.” Was all he said, waving them away with a dismissive flip of his hand.

Sierra, taking that as her cue, turned to the youngest bot. She thrust out her hand. “What do you say? Partners?”

He seemed confused, before slowly crouching and extending his hand to tap a finger to her palm. “Yeah, sure.” he seemed a little awed that she’d want to partner with him.

She smiled. “Good. In that case, why don’t you give me a ride and show me around your base?”

Smokescreen seemed confused. “Ride?”

“On your shoulder. I’d like to see it from your perspective.”

He blinked, then shrugged and put his hand, palm up, on the floor. Sierra took that as her que to climb up, and he carefully transferred her to his shoulder. Cool. Very cool. She just wanted to ride on the giant alien robot, and now she got to. That was cool.

She saw him look at her out of the corner of his bright, shining blue eyes, and she smiled warmly. “Well? Show me around your home, big guy. I’d like to get to know you.”

Smokescreen perked up, the little protrusions on his back wiggling with his apparent joy, and Sierra grinned a little wider. Oh, he was cute. How a giant robot could be endearing, she didn’t know, but he did it. He was sort of like a puppy. A giant, metal, alien puppy. She held on as he started walking, and she listened with half an ear, processing and noting what he told her as the rest of her mind turned over the events of her day.

It had been stressful, and scary, but now that it was all done and she was fine…

‘Yeah.’ she thought, watching her new partner eagerly show her around the small, hidden base he called home. ‘I think I’m gonna like it here.’

———————————————————————————————————

And that was that! I hoped you like it! It was fun to write. The show didn’t give Sierra a last name or a real personality, so I had to kind of do that bit myself. And I was right! I did enjoy writing this. The prompt inspired me to write this faster than I thought I’d be able to. I do not expect to be able to fill a prompt this quickly again. Unfortunately. Also, Sierra is definitely going to be the straight man to Smokescreen. He’s going to need it. Badly.

Until next time, friends!

[evienyx]

DSMP Citizens POV 5: The L'Manburg Captain

DSMPsona created by anon

- - -

DSMP Citizen POV Masterlist

DSMPsona Submission Rules

- - -

Bones was, to say it simply, sick of fighting.

The Guard had been fighting other people’s battles for as long as he could remember. Being raised by two guards on Hypixel, he grew up around fighting. He would be there as his parents broke up violent fights in lobbies, as they enforced the server rules when the admins couldn’t, and he watched as they slowly turned to him to teach him to do the same.

He had become a guard himself, but he grew weary of the fast-paced life of Hypixel. The server was always updating, always changing, and with the highest and fastest-growing population of any server, it was hard to keep track of what was going on.

So, eventually, Bones picked up his things, went to the server hub, and left.

He bounced from one smaller survival server to another, eventually hearing about something called the ‘Dream SMP’ server. Knowing that he had nothing better to do, the Guard decided to join it.

He spawned in a spruce forest, walled in on every side. There were others around the server portal that he had just emerged from, all milling around.

“What’s going on?” Bones asked someone nearby.

The woman he had addressed sighed, and she sounded exhausted. “We’re all just waiting to be greeted.”

After another hour, Dream, a man famous for both his parkour and combat skills, appeared and greeted the newest members of the server. He hadn’t realized that the Dream was the Admin of this world.

Two others stood next to the Admin. One, dressed in regal apparel, wore dark sunglasses over their eyes, a crown resting over their brow. The other wore what looked to be a war uniform. His hands folded behind his back, his gaze steady as it swept over the crowd, he had a firm smile on his face.

The first introduced herself as King Eret, leader of the Greater SMP, while the second called himself President Wilbur Soot, the head of a newly-formed country known as L’Manburg.

The Guard, who considered himself to always be on the side of the people, heard that L’Manburg had recently gained independence after fighting a Revolution in order to “free themselves from tyranny.” The Guard moved into L’Manburg the next day.

He was given a free place to live for a month, giving him time to acclimate to the server, as well as get a job to be able to actually get his own place. Not knowing what else to do, Bones joined the L’Manburg army. He didn’t care for fighting, but it was the only thing that he was good at.

His reputation from Hypixel preceded him, apparently. Being a guard on the biggest server was a very respected career, and Bones found it easy to move up the ranks rather quickly. It probably helped that the L’Manburg forces were rather lacking in terms of officers with actual experience. Guard training on Hypixel was often more intense than many servers’ military training programs, as well, so Bones had no trouble dominating in L’Manburg’s program.

When the elections occurred, the Soldier proudly cast his vote for President Soot and VP Tommy. Bones voted for the people, and Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit were for the people.

The election results, then, were upsetting, to say the least. Bones refused to listen as the new President Schlatt exiled the previous administration and called on the forces of L’Manburg to kill them. He stood in place, nails digging into his palm and screaming profanities as President Soot was bowed down and VP Tommy managed to just barely slip away.

That evening, while on patrol (which he had been demoted to for a month after his show during the inauguration), Bones spotted someone in the treeline.

“Who’s there?” The Soldier called. There was nothing for a moment and Bones aimed his crossbow at the forest. The bushes rustled and then TommyInnit stepped out, his hands raised above his head.

“Vice President?” Bones asked, lowering the crossbow. The leaves shifted again and another emerged. The Soldier blinked, shock holding him in place. “Technoblade?”

Technoblade raised an eyebrow and glanced down at VP Tommy. “Do I need to kill this guy?”

VP Tommy shook his head emphatically. “I don’t think so.” He turned back to Bones. “Do we need to kill you?”

“Are you starting a rebellion?” Bones asked, ignoring the question. A nod was given in response, and his shoulders sagged in relief. “Can I join?”

VP Tommy grinned up at Technoblade. “Told you!” The teenager looked back at the Soldier. “Go ask Niki! Wil said she’s making a rebellion inside Manburg, he sent her the Pogtopia coordinates!”

Bones nodded. “You best be going. I’m meant to be on patrol.”

VP Tommy lazily saluted and bolted off into the woods. Technoblade stared at Bones, gave him a curt nod, and then was gone as well.

The next day, after getting the location of the rebellionfrom Niki Nihachu, Bones gathered his valuables, his beloved dog Rosa, and ran. As he wove through the trees, following the beeping of the communicator to reach the correct coordinates, the Soldier wondered if he would be demoted for this.

He knocked on the rock wall the way that he had been shown to at the bakery, and it slid open to reveal an exhausted-looking President Soot.

The man’s eyes lit up when they landed on him.

“Captain Bones!” President Soot exclaimed, reaching out a hand to shake it firmly. Bones ignored how shaky the other’s fingers were. “What brings you here?” He paused. “Are you here to capture us? Because we’re not on L’Manburg land.”

Bones shook his head. “I heard you’re starting a rebellion?”

Soot’s eyes widened, and then he grinned and ushered the Captain inside.

Pogtopia was a ravine with grayed stones that reflected the mood of all who lived there. Bones started teaching a combat course for those who didn’t know how to fight, and the determination that shone in the eyes of teenagers who were just now choosing to pick up a weapon made him wonder when it had all come to this.

The Captain’s days in Pogtopia were not particularly memorable. He watched as President Soot slowly delved deeper and deeper in paranoia, to the point where he started accusing people like Bones, who had been in the rebellion since the beginning, of being spies all along.

Bones would dig his fingers in the fur of his dog on days like these and remember the inspiring leader that President Soot had once been.

Then, they won against Manburg on November 16th, and President Soot blew up the country before dying himself, and the Captain watched as President Tubbo stood in front of the people of L’Manburg and made promises of a brighter future.

And for a bit of time, it seemed like that could be true.

Then, though, as all good things do, the happiness came to an abrupt end as it was announced that VP Tommy had griefed the vacation home of GeorgeNotFound, the recently-crowned king of the Greater SMP. Dream, the Admin of the server himself, offered President Tubbo a choice: Exile TommyInnit, or their two factions would go to war.

The people of L’Manburg were all generally on the same page, screaming in the streets about how they were ready to fight again. TommyInnit was one of the founding members of the country, he had been there since the beginning. For Bones, though, above all else, it was about the fact that VP Tommy was a teenager. The Captain took to the streets with the others, calling out their readiness to go to war.

When VP Tommy was exiled, then, and sent off to some far-off island, Bones was back in the streets again, yelling at the top of his lungs about the injustice done against a child, thanks to the work of a foreign power.

“L’Manburg has never bowed down at the will of Dream before!” He exclaimed. “We aren’t going to start now!” His call was echoed by those around him, as the people called for justice to be served.

Weeks passed with the people of L’Manburg being tense and angry, the air stewing with conflict. On the eve of January 5th, the people were gathered and listened as President Tubbo, with VP Tommy somehow by his side, explained that the next day, their country would be destroyed.

That night, Bones moved Rosa and all the things that he actually cared about to his assigned tent at the campsite offered up to the L’Manburg residents. As people trickled into the camp, the Captain took anyone who wanted to try and fight the next day and continued the training sessions he’d led back in Pogtopia. There was a greater level of melancholy that had fallen over the people, but they listened nonetheless, and Bones taught and taught until his eyes were stinging from unshed tears and his muscles burned all through his body.

“Get some sleep,” President Tubbo said, joining Bones on the makeshift stage he had taken so that the whole crowd that he was training could see him. “You all are going to need it. Thank you for working so hard to fight for our country.” The teenager wiped at his eyes, and Bones realized through his exhaustion that the president was crying, too. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” President Tubbo nodded to the Captain, stepped off the stage, and was gone.

Doomsday was, to say the least, a disaster. L’Manburg was blown down to bedrock, there was nothing anyone could do, and by the end of it, Bones stood with the people of a ruined country and looked down at what remained of their home: A hole, one so deep and wide that nothing would ever be built there again.

King Eret stood next to President Tubbo and VP Tommy, overlooking the destruction.

“L’Manburg is gone,” President Tubbo finally said, addressing the crowd. “There will be no rebuilding from this. I’m so sorry, everyone.” Tears were streaming down his face. “L’Manburg was meant to be a safe place, somewhere that people could come to be happy and free. Maybe that was how it was in the beginning, but we lost our way. Maybe in another world, things could have been different.” The teenager laughed wetly, his eyes red as he turned to look at the people. “We did it wrong, but, hey, at least we tried.” He sniffed. “Maybe next time, we’ll do it better.” President Tubbo stopped talking, and everyone was silent for a moment. Then, King Eret began speaking.

“The campsite will remain set up for three more months. You may stay there while you search for a new place to live, whether that be somewhere on this server or on a different one entirely,” King Eret explained, her hands folded neatly behind her back. They glanced back at the crater, and Bones swore he saw a single tear trickle down their face. “L’Manburg was an inspiration to all of the server,” King Eret said. “It will be mourned for centuries.”

Bones, now a veteran of a fallen nation, stayed on the server. He found a piece of land, outside of the borders of the Greater SMP, and settled down there. He learned to farm from a family that lived within the Greater SMP’s territory, and purchased livestock and seeds so he could begin a new life.

The Veteran, with Rosa at his side, settled down for a quieter life. Maybe things would be better now, he supposed. Maybe here, in land that belonged to no one but himself, with no elections to worry about or wars to fight, Bones would be all right. Maybe now, finally, the server could begin to heal, to eventually rise up and fight against the tyranny of their Admin so that peace could finally reign.

(When the news came in on the communicators, then, that Dream had been captured and imprisoned within the maximum security cell of Pandora’s Vault, Bones joined the people in the street, cheering until his voice gave out and drinking until he passed out from happiness.

Then, he buried his face in Rosa’s fur and let out a genuine laugh for the first time in months.

Finally, finally, things could get better.)

[my-writings-and-musings]

Please ignore this if you've gotten sick of this particular prompt, but may we please get another set of the Oxygen Deprivation scenarios, but this time with Ratchet and Megatron?? Regardless of if you do it or not, thank you for your hard work, I love everything you've written so far!

Thankfully I never tire of drama! I did the prompt for Megatron back in part three, but I've absolutely got some grumpy/caring medic for you! Thank you for taking the time to read my stuff and send in a request, it always makes my day!

Part One: Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: You're Here!

Part Six: Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight: Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Ratchet

·You're in Swerve's with him for a nice evening off, something he enjoys a little more frequently than he used to thanks to the multitude of medics on board, but he appreciates every minute the two of you get to enjoy together regardless. There's hardly a lack of things to discuss, and you often find yourself listening to his stories until the bar closes and he has to carry you to berth. It's a little embarrassing for you, especially with every bot that knows thinking it's the cutest thing they've ever seen, but you admittedly enjoy being with Ratchet too much to care about how it looks. It doesn't hurt that he quite obviously enjoys it as well, especially when he's usually around those who only seek him out if they're sick, and he enjoys that he finally has an enthusiastic audience.

·The two of you are amongst the last of the patrons but still going strong one slow evening, with you perched atop a table whilst the older mech tells a story about a long ago incident in a medical lab where, upon being short staffed due to an ongoing battle, a patient had helpfully assisted with his own surgery. Though you're tired due to the hour, you're more than invested enough to keep your eyes open and listen along in fascination. It's not often he gets to go on like this, after all, and he looks absolutely adorable when he does.

·There's an unexpected flickering of the lights that stops everyone in their place, but it ends just quickly enough for the atmosphere to return to calm and for some bot to crack a joke about Swerve not paying his electric bill. You barely have time to chuckle before the whole ship is rocked like a boat on the open ocean, sending engex flying and glass shattering as everything not nailed down is tossed without a care, yourself included. Only the quick hands of an experienced medic save you from experiencing a not so gentle crash into the floor. Looking up once the dust settles to see Ratchet has you cupped safely in his palms, the two of you can't help but exchange a quick smile before the various bots around you start asking questions.

·Ratchet is quick to answer, keeping you in his hands to avoid the sea of broken glass as he stands. Any bot with decent battle experience on a ship like this recognizes what they all just felt, but being a bot who's seen more than his fair share of combat in space, he's able to explain that the size of the tremor indicates that they've been trapped by an enemy ship of smaller but not insignificant build. He gives them about five minutes before they're boarded, and instructs those gathered to head for emergency battle stations, as commands for defense will no doubt be incoming.

·Announcing his own intent to get to his post in the medical bay, the mech is quick to get going despite appearing outwardly calm, even promising Swerve he'll settle his tab when they get all this sorted. Holding you tight in one hand, he pulls up his communicator and tries to reach the bridge for specific instructions. To his frustration nothing comes through, and you find the same results when you make an attempt to establish communication with any top bot on your own communicator, prompting a few muttered swears from your partner. As usual, he's quick to get right to planning.

·Thankfully his designated task for any kind of emergency is exactly the same no matter the crisis; he heads to the medical bay and starts repairing the inevitable wounded. While you can't help with surgery, being that you're not much bigger than most of their tools, he posits that it makes sense for you to come with him. There's nothing more fortified than the medical bay, after all, so you can at least be somewhere safe. Though you're tempted to tease him about how obvious it is he wants you somewhere he can keep an optic on you, for now you decide to just settle in his hand and focus on what's ahead.

·Having been on many ships before this one, he's able to navigate with hardly a second thought, giving him a chance to keep his focus on you whilst he tries to keep figuring out the extent of the ship's difficulty. You can see him frown as he tries unsuccessfully to get his communicator working, and though you want to be stealthy for the sake of safety, you do want a better understanding of what's going on. Thankfully a human voice doesn't travel far through the hallways when spoken at conversational volume. Trying not to betray your anxiety, you ask if he can tell you anything about what to expect.

·Holding your tiny form a little closer, he hides the fact that he can see your apprehension clear as day, quite familiar with the brave face bots and humans alike will put on when in danger. Still, he certainly respects you enough to be honest. He explains that one ship latching on to another for an ambush these days is typically a pirate tactic, as they're more interested in selling the vessel afterwards or scrapping it for tech, unlike warring factions who will typically just blow each other up. There's probably already enemy forces on the ship, and they've certainly come well armed if they feel confident enough to take on Cybertronians.

·Your eyes dart around a little faster at that thought. Securing your hand against one of his digits, you remember they're sensitive enough to pick your heartbeat from just a touch, and the recollection stirs your affection whilst also making you think. If Cybertronians are so advanced, how can there be nothing working on this ship right now? Were there really no back up systems that could at least give you the basics? With the whole structure being the size of Manhattan, it'd be very nice to at least know if some areas might be safe, but then again bots tended to build things in a strange way. Nevertheless, your curiosity is so great you can't help asking a question.

·Ratchet pauses even as he keeps walking, his expression going distant in a way that initially makes you worry your query was taken with offense. But thankfully he speaks a second afterwards, looking inspired as he recalls a station of terminals not too far out of your path. It's more vulnerable, sure, but it also has physical connections to every part of the craft. He'd at least be able to conduct a system wide scan from there, and after that he'd have a much better idea of what they're up against. But he has to ask you first; are you comfortable with him taking the risk? Of course he'll always protect you, but there's a greater chance he'll need to do that if this path is chosen.

·You're smart enough to know exactly what he means. But there's a risk you'll bump into an enemy anyway, so wouldn't having a chance to get information like this be worth it? Oddly enough you seem more on board than he is with the plan, his friendly blue optics dimming with worry before you lay a comforting hand on his chest, smiling as you do so. This big mech cares so deeply for everyone, but you have a very special place in his loving spark, no matter how much he tries to pretend he's a grump. Your sentimental move seems to snap him back to hiding behind his mask, and he mutters something about feeling your heartbeat against his palm and how it's obvious you're nervous but if you say you're ready then he'll give this plan a try...

·For the sake of stealth he remains in bipedal mode, but he absolutely keeps you securely held to his chest, and you can't help but wish the circumstances were better because his spark humming beside you is impossibly soothing. Being held protectively by a Cybertronian is undoubtedly one of the most secure feelings in the world, you believe. Just being held by him in general though is enough to make you realize you're actually quite tired, enough so that you could absolutely fall asleep... Until he detects your slowing heartbeat and encourages you to stay awake.

·The terminal is in sight without a spot of trouble when Ratchet has to gently coax you awake for a second time, using a light nudge of his digit to encourage you to open your eyes once more. Though he knows the hour is late, your sudden sluggishness concerns him as a medic, enough so that he's now more intent than ever on getting some answers. Even without proof and a wealth of far more simple explanations, he's got a feeling something is wrong. A small part of his concentration is divided to keep a constant watch on your vitals.

·You're still alert enough to hear the incoming trouble just as he does; gunfire, shouts and general sounds of skirmish approaching rapidly down the hallway. Hearing him curse this unfortunate luck, you try to ascertain how long the two of you have until company arrives, but the noise is much too chaotic for you to gauge. Knowing Autobots will be amongst the fray is somehow far from comforting. Holding on tight to the hands cradling you so protectively, you look straight up just as the quick thinking doctor looks down at you, absolute trust in your eyes as you meet his optics. Whatever he decides to do next, you trust him with your life.

·The decision he makes isn't a spontaneous one, but it certainly feels like it as he barrels towards the terminals, holding his tiny partner to his chest as he runs. Knowing what's happening may well be the key to undoing any damage before it's too late. He can feel the heat of a few errant shots of blaster fire just as he gets his one spare hand on the keyboard, typing with speed he typically reserves for surgery as the world around him grows gradually more chaotic. Fortunately he only needs to hit a few buttons to bring up all the information he's looking for. Sharp optics start scanning whilst he uses his multitasking skills to keep track of everything else, listening for the threat and holding your little body close while he registers your pulse.

·The world around you feels like it's moving through water that thickens with every passing second, and neither the crackle of energy weapons nor the clanging of blades does anything to reverse the process. Even a shout from an Autobot warning Ratchet to move seems a million miles away. You know he told you to stay awake, but would he really mind if you got a quick nap in? After all, it's so late, and you're so tired, and you feel so safe in his sheltered grip... There isn't even a bit of worry in your mind regarding the fray. How could you be worried, here with the bot who would protect you always?

·Everything makes a terrifying amount of sense far too quickly. Ratchet is accustomed to the rapid responses his occupation requires of him, but for this singular instant he's frozen, optics locking on the atmosphere readout and hoping that he's simply misread it. A glancing but molten blow past his back forces him to accept what won't change, and he manages a combat roll just as the terminal is blasted by errant fire, the battle now within arms length as the same Autobot keeps encouraging him to move. He obliges only after sinking a fist into the face of an alien who wanders too close. After that, he's on the move without reservation, keeping you shielded with his entire frame as he runs.

·Your world spins without end even when the movement of everything beyond stabilizes, and you cling to the bot holding you for something to steady it all. God, what you wouldn't give to lie down and sleep... Ratchet is talking to you though, holding you so that you can see his face as he explains something about oxygen and taking deep breaths while focusing on him. It makes tragically little sense to you. Still, you feel bad as your eyelids grow heavy and your body turns to limp weight in his grip. Even your efforts to breathe as instructed feel like a failure. Of all the beings in the galaxy he's the one you want to dissapoint least, but his warm palms beneath you are so comfortable, and his spark humming in your ear is so soothing... You only hope he can forgive you for submitting to sleep.

·Ratchet knows he's powerless to wake you again, but that hardly keeps the agony from tearing at his spark. Seeing you go limp in his grasp, feeling your pulse weaken and grow irregular, hearing your breath stall... How long has it been since any medical emergency has reduced him to near panic like this? He's so invested in his task that his arrival to the medical bay only comes with orders. You're the human equivalent of a Fader, and so much of what he needs to save you isn't even ready to go! He needs to have a mask, a saline solution for dehydration, and oxygen of the exact content percentage you need to survive just to start... For the first time in eons he's terrified, even as it all comes together and he sees your vitals stabilize before his very optics, as all he can think of is how very close this came to ending tragically. As you're left recovering he quickly gets to work on other patients, throwing himself into the task so as not to worry, though his optics betray him on the regular with glances towards the berth supporting your tiny body.

·Wakefulness comes with a familiar digit resting in your palm, reading your vitals as you put together blurry pieces of a not so happy story. To your delight, a brightly colored chevron is the first thing you see when you open your eyes, and it's impossible not to smile when you roll your head over to look at the owner. Ratchet somehow looks more exhausted than you've ever seen him as he smiles back. He relays everything that happened in a way that paints him as an unimportant figure, up until you move your hand to rest atop his, your eyes filled with that same trust and admiration you'd given before he'd gone for the terminal. You want to communicate that you know how much you owe him. This brave, selfless medic who'd risked so much to give you his best and deserved the full credit for saving your life... Humility doesn't allow him to agree in full, but you're certain you can see peace in his optics, the kind he only seems to feel with you.

[oneofyatosfollowers]

Yatori Week 2021- Day 3

@yatoriweek2021

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32090953/chapters/79500055

Fanfiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13905660/1/Yatori-Week-2021

There was a cherry tree in the new neighborhood Hiyori moved to. 

It sat alone at the end of a small park, tucked away in the green bushes and trees. That’s where she met him. It was the day after the moving truck dropped off the last of their things at their new house down the road. Her mother had asked her older brother, Masaomi, to take her to the park since it had a playground. When he wasn’t paying attention, he threw the ball they were tossing too far over her head and it rolled towards the tree.

“I’ll get it!” She called. Masaomi, who was too invested in his video game, just waved. With a huff, Hiyori followed after the yellow ball, approaching the cherry tree. Once the ball was safely in her tiny hands, Hiyori stood. Suddenly, she heard sniffling. Alert and concerned, Hiyori looked around. She peeked around bushes and under benches until she realized the crying was coming from above her. Within the leaves and pink blossoms of the cherry tree, someone was crying softly. Hiyori’s heart sank when she realized it sounded like a little kid, just like her. Turning on her toes, Hiyori ran back to her brother with the intention of telling him, but she remembered her brother made fun of crybabies.

“I don’t want to play with you anymore!” Hiyori declared as she set the ball down at her brother’s feet. There must have been a break in the game because her brother gave her a look of shock and offense.

“Oh, uh, okay,” he said. Satisfied, Hiyori spun around and dashed towards the tree.

“H-hey!”

“I’m going to climb that tree!” Hiyori announced over her shoulder. She watched her brother pick up the ball and sit on the bench. Approaching the trunk, Hiyori slowed, feeling an odd sense of forbidding. She shook it off and stepped towards the tree, hands against the bark, and listened. Whoever was crying must have heard her yell her intentions and stifled their weeping. She huffed and looked around, spotting a rock right next to the tree that would make her just tall enough to reach the lowest branch. As she hauled herself onto her knees, nice oxfords scraping against the wood, Hiyori wondered if the person was nice. With a grunt she looked to the ground, furious with her mother for insisting she wear a dress to the park, then looked up. At first she couldn’t see anyone so she pouted.

“Hello!” Hiyori called into the pink, “I know you’re up here!” Her shout caused the leaves above her rustle. Someone flinched and was trying to readjust to make themselves smaller, instead the person had moved out from the branch they were hiding behind. Hiyori opened her mouth to point out their mistake, but thought better of it. As she continued her way further into the pink wonderland, Hiyori realized this person could be hurt. With another grunt, she sat on the branch and fretted; wishing she brought her capybara toy doctor kit. It would have been just like she practiced! Eventually Hiyori managed to climb up, and up, and up around the cherry tree until she was just under the crying child.

“Excuse me!” Hiyori’s shrill voice startled them and they whipped around to look at her. The boy’s eyes were a startling blue that stood out against the pink surrounding them. His long black hair was a major contrast too, it stalled Hiyori long enough for her to blink a couple times until she remembered her original goal.

“It’s mean to not answer, you know,” chided Hiyori as she settled more comfortably on the branch below him. When she met his eyes again she realized he hadn’t looked away the entire time. Did even blink those big blue things?

“Hello? Can you speak?” Hiyori tried again, this time a bit kinder. He hadn’t stopped crying since she sat down, tears rolled down his red cheeks in thick waves. No matter how he sniffed at his dripping snot or wipes under his eyes, he still looked just as miserable. She noticed he was wearing an off-white kimono, tied shut with a navy ribbon.

“Y-yeah I c-can talk,” the boy whimpered.

“O-oh.” Hiyori didn’t know what to say. Now that she heard his voice, his sorrow, Hiyori’s own lips started to tremble.

“No one -hic- asked y-you to come up he-re,” he hiccuped. That’s when Hiyori realized his eyebrows were knitted. He was annoyed with her.

“I thought you were hurt!” Hiyori defended, “I heard you crying!”

“I’m not crying,” the boy lied, pathetically. The challenge was clear on her face but the boy just let out a loud sniff and turned back around, pulling his knees tighter to his chest. Hiyori pouted again, which turned into a frown and she looked down. Up here, she couldn’t even see the ground. They were surrounded by nothing but pink and brown, the sounds of the world outside were muted as wind drifted through with a sweet scent. It was nice. She would have never come up here on her own- her mother did not condone rolling around in nature- but in any other circumstances this would have been amazing.

“Are you hurt?” Hiyori asked gently. There was a long pause before he shook his head, bangs wagging side to side, then he re-buried his face in his knees. Unsure of what to do, Hiyori played with her fingers, watching her legs swing back and forth. The thought of leaving crossed her mind but instead Hiyori crawled up next to him.

“H-hey,” he sputtered. Hiyori ignored him and situated herself right next to him, their legs dangling side by side. She watched patiently as he wiped his blotchy red cheeks then looked at her with that mild annoyance and baby pout. When he didn’t say or do anything more, Hiyori rubbed his back, hand moving up and down like her grandmother did for her.

“What’s your name?” She asked.

“Yaboku,” the boy said, “but my mom called me Yato.”

“What should I call you?”

“Um, Yato is fine,” he sniffed, “what’s your name?” He watched her pull back and stick her hand out to him with a smile.

“I’m Hiyori Iki!” She smiled as he took her hand and shook it. Yato’s fingers were sweaty and Hiyori wiped her hand clean on her dress.

“That’s a nice name,” Yato eventually said.

“Thanks,” Hiyori smiled. Her happiness quickly fizzled out when Yato just sniffed again and frowned at the ground. From this close she could see his eyes were puffy, his nose and cheekbones rubbed raw. It hurt her heart to see. No one should be that sad. Hiyori reached around him again, and pulled Yato into a hug.

“Shh, there there,” Hiyori comforted, “don’t cry. It’s okay.” The moment Yato’s head rested against her, his eyes instantly watered. She rocked him slowly, holding him tight as she shushed his sobs.

“What’s wrong?” Hiyori eventually worked up the nerve to ask.

“I miss my mom,” Yato lamented. He hiccuped and buried his face in her clothes, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

“Where’d she go?”

“She’s dead.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. My grandpa died recently too. Everyone was sad, I cried a lot too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Hiyori sighed, “So, what are you doing up here?”  

“I don’t want to be home, but I have nowhere to go,” he sniffed, “this is my mom’s tree.”

“Oh, did she plant it?” Hiyori asked. She leaned back in surprise and Yato moved away from her, but just slightly.

“No. She just liked it. A lot. We used to come here all the time.” He wiped his eyes even though he had stopped crying.

“That’s nice,” Hiyori said, “my family just moved here. So I’ll come here a lot too.”

“Really? You will?” Yato sounded so hopeful Hiyori couldn’t help but smile.

“Yeah! Do you come here a lot too?”

“Everyday,” he sniffed, “if you want to play together, we can.” His face looked considerably clearer, he even smiled slightly. Meanwhile Hiyori beamed at the thought of having a brand new friend. Just as Hiyori opened her mouth to gleefully agree, her name was called somewhere below them.

“Hiyori!” Masaomi shouted, “come on, mom said we have to be home by four!” His voice echoed through the leaves and the two children watched his shadows dance against the pink. Hiyori’s mouth opened and shut before she looked at her new companion. Blue met brown as they communicated their reluctantness.

“Hiyori!” Masaomi shouted, a bit more panicked.

“Coming big brother!” Hiyori finally called back. Not wanting to worry him, Hiyori spun around and draped her stomach over the branch, kicking her feet until they met a foothold. It took her a lot less time to climb down but she looked up just before she vanished through the flowers.

“Yato!” She called up to him. It wasn’t necessary, he had been staring at her all the way down, but Hiyori just wanted to say it. Especially when- from below him- he looked like a spirit that belonged among the blossoms.

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” She promised. The last thing she saw before she left was Yato’s smile and a wave.

The two become steadfast friends, closer than Hiyori had ever been with anyone her own age. They were practically inseparable; Hiyori making her way to the park at least once a day. Yato would always be there, it didn’t matter what time of day it was, he was always waiting for her at the bottom of the tree. For a while, Hiyori never questioned it, instead enjoying her time with her best friend every day, making up stories of pretend. Until she started her first day of elementary school and she passed by the park.

“Yato!” she called to her friend sketching in the dirt. His head popped up and that beaming smile instantly appeared at the sight of her.

“Hiyori!” Yato charged towards her. They met with their usual big hug, her backpack hindering his advances.

“Are you here to play?” He asked.

“No, Yato! It’s time to go to school!” Hiyori huffed. Confused, Yato cocked his head.

“School?”

“Yes! It’s this way, come on!” Hiyori grabbed his hand and tugged him along the park fence.

“But! I don’t go to school!” Yato fretted.

“Of course you do! Mom says all little girls and boys go to school at six years old,” Hiyori recited happily.

“I’m seven,” Yato informed. This surprised Hiyori, since the boy was much smaller than her, but there were more pressing matters to address. Yato didn’t have a uniform- still wearing that dirty kimono- but missing school was a big no-no.

“We have to go or we’ll be late,” Hiyori huffed. She continued to pull him but when they reached the end of the park,Yato gripped the fence and brought them to a halt.

“No, I mean I don’t go to school. My dad teaches me and my sister at home.”

“You can do that?” Hiyori gawked. She finally let go of him and watched his expression turn to a pout.

“Yeah,” Yato sighed.

“Hey that’s okay,” she rubbed his shoulder, “I’ll see you after school!” Hiyori promised. That seemed to cheer him up and he returned her wave as she jogged away from him. That promise stayed as they grew, Yato would be there when she walked to school and when she walked home. Hiyori’s mother let her stay at the park after school until dinner time.

“When do you go home?” Hiyori asked him once. He was covered in bruises and cuts again- apparently trying dangerous tricks on the playground- and his kimono was getting short and worn.

“When the lights come on.”

“Lights?” Hiyori questioned. Yato pointed to the streetlamps and Hiyori laughed.

“That’s called a street lamp!” She giggled.

“Well I didn’t know!” He huffed, suitably embarrassed.

“You don’t know a lot,” Hiyori said. She wasn’t trying to be mean, it was true.

“You should listen to your dad more when he teaches you,” she lectured. Yato just hummed and continued building their castle in the sand pit. Two springs later, Hiyori saw Yato wear something different for the first time. Just like their first meeting, he was sitting on his favorite branch. However, this time he faced her with a smile and a bruised cheek.

“Look at you!” Hiyori squealed. Climbing up the tree with the practiced ease of a squirrel.

“Me?” Yato cocked his head, holding his swollen cheek.

“You’re wearing clothes!” She exclaimed.

“I always wear clothes.” Yato was suitably confused this time and Hiyori rolled her eyes.

“Yeah a kimono.”

“My mom liked kimonos,” Yato said haughtily. That made sense. The one time Hiyori met Yato’s twin sister- shy to the point of avoiding all other people- she wore a matching kimono.

“Well you look good,” Hiyori complimented. She tugged on the orange capybara shirt and looked at his cargo shorts.

“Thanks! I found them!”

“Found them? In the store?”

“Uh,” Yato looked down, “yeah.” Despite how close they were, there was so much about Yato, Hiyori didn’t know about. But Hiyori wasn’t stupid, she tried to ask once she caught on, but he wasn’t a fan of that. But that didn’t stop them from getting closer.

“So, a haunted house, huh?” Yato snickered, “and what are you dressing up as?” As per tradition, Yato met her under the tree and walked her to school. Even when they -she- moved on to middle school a year ago.

“I’m not. I will be doing the entrance,” Hiyori stated. Spring brought on an annual happiness that could not be explained but Hiyori knew the sweet smell wafting through the air was all Yato.

“Come on Hiyori! No cosplay for me?” He teased, nose coming in far too close.

“Wha-? Cosplay!” Hiyori shoved him away, “And what’s for you?” She turned her burning face away as he laughed. They continued to playfully bat at each other until the school fence was reached and Hiyori fully pushed him away. Cherry trees were budding on her campus as the decorations for the culture fest were in full display. She stopped and stared at it, looking back at the boy who couldn’t even leave the park fence until a little while ago.

“Why haven’t you talked to your dad about coming here?”

“Hiyori,” his smile dropped and he looked to the side, “it’s fine. You know it’s for the best this way.”

“How can it be for the best? You want to, don’t you?” Hiyori pressed. As always Yato squirmed, shoulders sinking in.

“You know how he is, Hiyori. He’s just strict. It’s fine.”

“But-!”

“You’re gonna be late, you know. And so am I,” Yato shrugged. Hiyori pouted as he turned with a lazy wave over his shoulder. He thought he was so cool wearing all black and tying his hair up. With a huff, she rolled her eyes.

“I’ll see you later! Don’t forget what class I’m in!” Hiyori called after him. Turns out she would be seeing him during the culture festival, with the delinquents of her middle school, vandalizing the side and some storage sheds. They were squatting under a cherry tree under the window of her hallway, beating things they weren’t supposed to, laughing at whoever tried to stop them. This was not the Yato she knew. The sweet boy who sat next to pink flowers did not laugh while bullies beat those weaker than them. She had abandoned her post, running down the stairs, out the front door and around the building.                                                                                

“Yato!” She hollered at him. He stopped, wide blue eyes stark against the Cherry Tree behind him. He looked just as shocked and fearful as the first time she saw him, but her face held more fury. The boys were just as shocked at the sight of a girl glaring at them with her fist balled. She was shaking, but the frightened boy beaten against the tree trunk caused her to march forward.

“Uh,” one of the boys faltered.

“Looks like his girlfriend came to save him.”

“Hey girlie, whatcha up to?” Another jeered. Hiyori kept her head down as she reached for the stuned victim’s arm and pulled.

“She’s kinda cute.”

“Yeah, check it out,” the boys were musing in a frightening way. Hiyori could feel their eyes on her as she and the victim stood but she was most aware of Yato. They didn’t do anything as Hiyori turned and tried to walk away, until one of them grabbed her arm.

“Hey, where ya goin?” one of them gibed. Hiyori’s lips tightened as she forced herself to look away.

“Let go of me,” she said.

“Come on, I just wanted to know why a cutie like you was hanging out with this loser,” the boys around her laughed and she felt tears well up in her eyes. Then, it was cut off.

“She said let go,” Yato growled in a way Hiyori had never heard.

“What? Dude what’s your deal?”

“Yeah, back off! I thought you were cool,” the boy holding her hand squeezed and jolted, causing Hiyori to gasp slightly in surprise. That might as well have been a wrestling bell because all hell broke loose. The hand was pulled off of her and Yato was pushed, leading to three other students on the ground. Before Hiyori could even catch up, the main bully was beaten and held against the tree. Two other boys tried to help their friend- to stop Yato from hitting him so much- before their noses met with his elbow and fist.

“Yato!” Hiyori cried, “Yato, stop it! Get off him!” She finally gathered herself and grabbed his cocked elbow. Those blue eyes flashed to her again and Hiyori gasped. She had never seen him so angry, they were alight with terrifying fury under knitted eyebrows. His face fought to smooth out at the sight of her, guilt filling in the tight lines, Hiyori realized for the first time: Yato was much stronger than he looked.

“Hey! What are you kids doing?” A teacher hollered around the corner.

“Run! Scatter!” The bullies immediately took off. Yato dropped the student he was holding, letting him slide down the tree, taking the same position as his victim. Hiyori watched her friend spin around and move towards the fence.

“Wait!” Hiyori tightened her grip on Yato’s arm.

“I can’t let my dad find out!” Yato spoke rapidly when he whipped to face her. For a moment she was shocked by the sudden flip in emotions but her jaw clicked shut as irritation boiled.

“You have to face the consequences of your actions! You can’t just leave!” Hiyori shouted. At one point the victim she helped tried to hold Yato too, only to be shoved off just as quickly. By now the teacher was marching over with two more in tow. Yato struggled against Hiyori, pulling so strongly that her heels dug in the dirt.

“Hiyori, I’m not kidding, let go.” Yato demanded with a low growl.

“Yato-”

“Stay right where you are!”

“I said get off!” With a final push, Yato sent Hiyori to her rear, flat in the dirt. They stared at each other, a mix of shock and hurt rolling across their features. Then, he was gone, up the cherry tree and over the fence by the time the teacher reached them. Hiyori was not like Yato. Hiyori would listen to the teacher, Hiyori would end up sitting in the office and telling them everything, Hiyori would meet her parents after they got a phone call. Hiyori would still go to the Cherry Tree to face him at their usual time, only to find it and it’s branches empty and silent.

Unable to break a promise, or a tradition, Hiyori prepared to meet Yato under the park Cherry Tree that weekend for the viewing. They watched that tree bloom every year before Hiyori left to go with her family or friends. But that short time they spent together was as nostalgic as it was precious. Yato was waiting for her, kicking up against the bark like usual. Except he wasn’t smiling at her with that crooked grin, in fact he wasn’t even looking at her. She didn’t approach him, just stood there with her fists balled. She wanted to yell at him, slap him across his bruising cheek but she was waiting for him to speak first and he knew it.

“I’m sorry.” He said. It was lame and pitiful and he knew it but it was enough for Hiyori to march over to him.

“You better be sorry. How could you? Beating up on someone weaker than you,” she jabbed her finger on his chest, “is that why you’re always beat up?” The realization seemed to strike her just as strongly as it did him. Boys were crazy; what if those bullies have been fighting with Yato the entire time?

“No,” Yato spat at the ground, “I just met them. Couple months ago.” He shared her scowl and Hiyori felt her eyes water with frustration.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t realize I had to. You’re not my only friend, you know. Besides, you have other friends too.”

“They’re not good friends, Yato.”

“I can hang out with whoever I want,” he suddenly glared at her. It shocked Hiyori enough for her to let out a short gasp which caused Yato’s face to drop again with guilt but he looked away before she could glare. Up close Hiyori saw all the bruises littering his face. He seemed to be favoring his right side but Hiyori can’t tell if it’s because of his foot or hand. Honestly Hiyori couldn’t bring herself to focus on street fight bruises.

“Fine then,” Hiyori sighed. She watched her friend pout for a couple moments longer before looking above them. This tree was beautiful, it’s petals completely covered it in the most breathtaking shade of blush and magenta. Despite herself she smiled, this was her happy place but only when the boy in front of her was there.

“You look really pretty,” Yato mumbled. When Hiyori looked back at him, she noticed he was staring at her again. Drinking in her appearance with a blank expression.

“Th-thank you,” Hiyori blinked. Her mother put her in a pink and purple kimono with butterflies sewn around her ankles. Her fingers reached up to play with her hair, the majority of it tied with a hairstick. Damn him for making her forgive and forget her anger so easily. With a hum, Yato watched her for a couple moments longer before he looked back at the ground.

“You should go. Your friends are probably waiting.” This was about twenty minutes earlier than when she usually left but her friends probably were already there. Still, Hiyori didn’t want to leave, even if Yato was okay with it.

“Come with me,” said Hiyori.

“What?” Yato yelped, head popping up. Hiyori didn’t bother elaborating, she just grabbed his hand and pulled him off their cherry tree.

“Wait! Hiyori!” He stumbled but didn’t pull away as she walked him out of the park.

“That boy you beat up is going to be with us. His name is Manabu and I expect you to be nice,” Hiyori huffed. She held her breath as they headed towards the end of the fence. Of course they left the park more often than not these days but it still worried her. She sighed with a smile when he just continued to follow after her as they left the park behind.

“Are you sure this is a good idea? Won’t they hate me?”

“No,” Hiyori giggled, “why would they hate you?” She looked back at him for a moment. Eventually she let go of his hand but was happy to see he still followed. It had been awkward at first, Yato practically hid behind her while her friends gaped and teased. Poor Manabu was terrified and wouldn’t even talk to her unless Yato was distracted. But it ended up okay, everyone had fun and her female friends cooed at how cute Yato’s smile was.

Unfortunately, Yato couldn’t hover around her all the time. It was next spring, before middle school graduation, that Manabu asked her out. He had been so attached to her after her little rescue attempt that Hiyori had a hard time saying no. Fortunately, boys had a habit of falling out of Cherry Trees.

“That’s why Hiyori Iki, please,” Manabu bowed, “please go out with-” He fell to the ground with a thud, squished under another body.

“Yato!” Hiyori gasped. Her friend was rubbing his butt with a pout, refusing to look at her or the boy he now sat on.

“What are you doing?”

“I tripped.”

“Out of a Cherry Tree?” Hiyori huffed at him as he stood, stepping off Manabu as politely as he could. The two friends couldn’t look at each other’s red face but Hiyori at least had the dignity to help Manabu back up with Yato watching her, just like that day. Manabu too, looked suitably embarrassed. His face rivaled that of the apples on an apple tree rather than the pink of the blossoms above them. Before Hiyori could nicely turn him down- and let Yato have it- someone gently weaved their arms together.

“Sorry, but Hiyori has plans with me everyday after school forever. Give up,” Yato stated nonchalantly. He led her away as Manabu and Hiyori worked to close their mouths. The two children didn’t look or say anything to each other, even when they reached the park.

“Forever?” Hiyori repeated.

“Yep. Forever and ever,” Yato said in the same tone he used when they promised that as kids. He was completely turned around but Hiyori could see his red ears.

“And what if I wanted to date him?”

“You didn’t,” that got Yato to turn around, “I could tell.” There was nothing she could say, even with both their faces rising in temperature, he was completely serious. And he was right.

“That and you looked like you wanted to drop through the floor,” Yato finally snickered. With a gasp she whacked him, hitting him more the more he laughed at her, trying to mock her horrified expression.

“I keep telling you to stop spying on me at school! They’re getting ready to cut down that tree!” Hiyori said. At some point, Yato caught her hand and twined their fingers together, grinning despite her embarrassment.

“Come on! Let’s get some ramen. Your treat,” he started towards their favorite noodle bar. Hands swinging, she walked right next to him, refusing to let go or look at his proud smirk.

“You just don’t want to lose your meal ticket.” She muttered.

“Oh come on,” Yato scoffed, “you know you love me!” He cackled at the terrible joke and Hiyori struggled to smile. He meant it as a joke- right?- but that little comment resonated in Hiyori all the way through her middle school graduation. It kept her up at night, bounced around her skull as they walked around town, and vibrated in her chest when he waited under their Cherry Tree with a bouquet of flowers after her graduation party.

The more aware she was of her own feelings, the more aware she became of his. The attention, the neediness, the jealousy, the more-than-friendly affection. Hiyori was almost sure Yato liked her too. But no matter how much she pushed and pried, the first year of high school coming and going, he never did anything more. And if Manabu was anything to go by, Hiyori was still on the market.

There was another boy, Fujisaki, in the grade ahead of her. He had been one of her first friends in highschool and often hung out with her group of friends. Somewhere along the way, they had exchanged phone numbers, spent time alone together outside of school, and talked everyday. Even Yato knew more about him than he should, scowling as she recounted her stories about Fujisaki. There were even a couple times Fujisaki walked her home, staying with her and Yato at the park until she had to go home. They argued, right then and there under the Cherry Tree, over who would walk her home. Fujisaki’s charisma and Yato’s temper had Hiyori pick the former; something she regretted for days but never apologized for. Instead, Hiyori tried to keep their interactions and knowledge about each other to a minimum. But the fact was that Fujisaki was much more determined than Yato’s stubbornness. Before she knew it they had gone on a date, then two. Something Yato saw on social media.

“You’re really going out with him?” Yato had been late, for the first time, to the Cherry Tree one day, marching towards her just as the sun was setting. When he finally did come, he wore a storm cloud over his head and opted to shove the cheap phone he got in her face.

“I-I am not! We just date sometimes!” Hiyori shoved the device away.

“That’s called going out, Hiyori!” Yato all but shouted. His hand slammed against the tree truck right next to her head. Hiyori flinched but she was too offended and embarrassed and guilty to do anything but narrow her eyes up at him. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Hiyori wondered when the tiny boy she met grew taller than her.

“It was twice and what does it matter! I’m not doing anything wrong! I can date whoever I want,” even to Hiyori’s ears it sounded forced. Like she was trying to convince herself of something.

“Do you even want to date him?”

“I wouldn’t have agreed to a third date if I didn’t!”

“That’s not an answer, Hiyori,” Yato leveled her with a more serious gaze. Not a jealous, emotional teenage boy, but a concerned friend. She hated when he did that. How he could get so dramatic, get her angry, then make her heart quiver with nothing but honest concern.

“Who says it's not an answer,” Hiyori muttered to the ground. She heard Yato take a deep breath through his nose, sensing he didn’t believe her.

“You don’t see us at school. We hang out all the time,” Hiyori continued, “he’s really nice and we get along.” She had said this line many times to many people and while she felt comfortable acting around her friends and family, it was harder with Yato.

“I can too,” Yato mumbled. When Hiyori returned her glare to him, she saw this time he was the one looking off with embarrassment. No, that wasn’t right, not embarrassment. Fear maybe?

“I can, uh, apply? Go to high school too. With you,” Yato said, rather uncomfortably. He started twitching again but Hiyori took a moment to indulge in old daydreams. Ones where Yato would sit next to her in class and laugh with her friends, play a sport or join a club, let her know more about him.

“Why would you do that?” Hiyori hushed, “Just so you can hang out with those bullies again? You tell me who I can and can’t hang out with while never telling me anything about you!”

“I can’t tell you! There’s nothing to tell! Besides I wouldn’t,” he bit his lip, “I wouldn’t say anything if you actually liked him.”

“I never said I didn’t!” Hiyori argued.

“You never said you did.”

“Well maybe I do.” Hiyori shot. Her declaration rang through the air, it seemed to strike through Yato and his shoulders slumped. Next to her ear, his fist curled, scraping against the bark.

“Then say it.” He dared with a low growl. It hurt to hear, why couldn’t he just grow a pair and give her a straight answer? Or was she wrong and he really was okay with her dating someone else?

“Why should I? Who cares whether or not I do or I don’t, it’s dating. That’s what dating is. And it’s not like you ever-!” Her rage was cut off harshly. She couldn’t bite her lip fast enough and Yato’s eyes whipped up to hers before she could look away. They stared at each other again. The Cherry Blossoms had bloomed over a week ago and it’s brown, rotting flowers had already started to shrivel up and fall around them. But their sweet smell still wafted around Hiyori, mixing nicely with Yato’s cologne and natural scent. They were so close. During their yelling both of them had leaned closer, bangs almost brushing. Yato had bent to her eye level, which made their blushes that much more apparent.

“Would you-” his voice cracked and he cleared it.

“Would you have? Uh,” Yato couldn’t get it out and Hiyori could barely listen.

“Yes.” Hiyori said. She had always been braver than him, even though she didn’t know exactly what she was agreeing to. But when Yato didn’t talk, didn’t look at her, for a long time, Hiyori’s worries boiled over and threatened to spill over her lashes.

“I’m homeless.” Yato said suddenly.

“Huh?” Hiyori blinked, “You’re homeless? You’re kidding! You don’t actually live here?” Her voice took on a hint of a plea as her hands came up between them.

“Well, no, I can go home, when I’m not kicked out. But I don’t, uh, don’t like my dad when he, uh, bullies me.” Yato stammered. As he spoke a dying blossom fell on his head and stuck there.

“Oh, Yato.” Hiyori mourned. Taking in a sharp breath Hiyori reached up to remove the flower, dropping it on the ground and resting her palm on his cheek.

“And I’m not ‘homeschooled’ so much as I’m ‘self taught.’ He did the basics but, uh,” Yato swallowed and let out a painful laugh, “I have no future, Hiyori. All I really have is you, as sad as that is. But, uh, you do. With someone good.” His words were met with silence. Hiyori wanted to be mad, to shout, to apologize, anything. But she couldn’t. All she could do was let the tears fall down her cheeks and sniff as Yato stared. Eventually he pulled her into a hug, slowly and cautiously, resting her head in his chest.

“I’m sorry. I know you wanted to know but,” Yato sighed against her head, “I’m sorry.”

“You have a future.” Hiyori sniffed.

“Hiyori,”

“You have a future here. With me.” She asserted. He offered everything to her yet she wasn’t all he had. Yato had strength, Yato had kindness, Yato had perseverance. But no matter what, Yato had her and Hiyori had him. It was just as dependable as the tree they stood under and just as beautiful. Yato’s smile was sweet like the scent of blossoms as his eyes got a wet sheen to match hers.

“I’d like that.” He hushed. Her own breath hitched as he reached up to wipe her tears and held her face, gently. Moving slowly, ever so slightly, with nervous, jolting movements, they got even closer.

“Only if you want to,” Yato’s nose brushed her cheek as her eyes drooped, “if you want me.” Instead of answering, Hiyori used her hand to push him the final centimeter, squeaking when his lips pushed against hers. They took turns letting out soft sounds as they struggled to figure out how to kiss properly. It was awkward, their clumsy movements sloppy and off-beat while they tried to figure out how to breathe. But it was as sweet as it was addicting. Regardless, Hiyori was giddy and couldn’t help but snort at their inexperience, peaking one eye open to see a very passionate Yato with more dead flowers in his hair. Suddenly, Yato’s eyes popped wide open and he looked directly into hers. That did it and she couldn’t help but laugh. He gasped in offense and mortification and Hiyori thought it served him right. Just in case she grabbed his face and pecked at his scowl. In retaliation, Yato kissed her hard, pressing her so tight against the tree her nice shoes slid up the root and onto the trunk.

“Wha-? Hey!” Yato protested as Hiyori spun in his arms and crawled up the tree, limbs moving without thought. She took a moment to look down at him and stick out her tongue, before she disappeared into the leaves.

“Oh no you don’t!” Yato was up the tree in seconds but Hiyori was already straddling his branch, smiling triumphantly. Of course, she wouldn't be for long as Yato managed to re-claim his spot while kissing her senseless. The tree hid them well into the night, the old cherry blossoms falling off, making room for the new yet forever precious beauty.

[whump-town]

Nation Of Two

(Hotchniss/Hotly, language warning)

(You can also read the full text here)

It’s no secret that Emily Prentiss and Aaron Hotchner make a great team. Nearly in sync in every way possible. To outfits and biology- it’s fairly uncommon to stumble upon two people who seem to share everything in common and yet nothing at all. Mild-mannered to a short fuse, wildly protective, and a force to be reckoned with and yet what had created those similarities could not separate them more.

At the same time, Morgan had never seen two people get under each other’s skin as often as those two. In one breath, they’re moving in tandem the next arguing over a cup of coffee. Communicating through a single glance shared across a busy room and then at each other’s throats.

Dave had just broken up one of their more heated arguments. Given the profanity riddled sarcastic retort Emily had thrown as a final blow, Morgan could make a fairly educated guess that they were arguing about the headache Hotch is attempting and failing to hide.

Arguments over injuries and ailments always procure the worst scenes. They get heated, worse so when Hotch is the injured party in their das reich der zwei. Their Nation of Two- the dream team, in it together till the end of the line. The line, of course, being injuries. They want to protect everyone and when that spotlight finds itself pointing at one of them, it creates a unique kind of challenge. 

A pain in the ass. 

“Reid,” Hotch’s rough baritone breaks through the precinct. “You’re with me,” he announces, his dark eyes purposely flicking to Prentiss. “We’re going to the dock.” 

Reid realizes he’s now been roped into this. Going with Hotch means he’s siding with Hotch and like a fool, he’s only got one option. He sets the marker in his hand down on the table and sends Rossi a panicked look- knowing he’s the only person who can help him at this point. 

The older man offers him a short shake of the head- great, he’s really screwed. 

Prentiss’ jaw clenches as she glares at Hotch, her fist clenched at her side. What point is he proving right now? Look at me, Aaron Hotchner, all buff and big because I’m going to get an ear infection going outside in the snow without any protection for my busted up ears! So manly, so cool.

Fuck him. 

She hopes he gets an ear infection, it would only serve him right. Asshole.

Picking up Reid’s discarded pen, she sets back to her work. At least this way one of them would be getting something done.

__________

“Hotch?”

The snow had started coming down harder once they got in the car. Reid had learned a long time ago that as sensible as his boss was, one of the largest mistakes you could make around him was getting in a car while the man was angry. And as worrisome as the car ride had been- the tall, lanky creature standing on the dock is shaping up to be worse. 

“FBI!”

Reid blinks, just watching in confusion, and fear as Hotch keeps his solid pace up. 

“Identify yourself.” No one’s supposed to be on that dock. Hence the yellow tape wrapped, practically, all the way around it. If he could see the tape through the snow then surely so could the figure.

Hotch comes to a staggering halt, fingers itching to draw his gun. 

“Step closer,” the figure shouts over the snow, “and I’ll slit this little bastards throat.”

A father-son duo… admittedly, Hotch wasn’t expecting this. “Just let him go,” Hotch replies, evenly. His hands raise, slowly, making sure everything stays just as it is. “We can talk- tell me your name?” The kid looks no older than sixteen and terrified. Trembling. 

“I'm not going to jail!” The man shouts, “those girls had it coming! They deserved it!” The father jerks the boy closer, his son’s body covering his. “Now, fuck off!” He pulls them closer to the edge.

Hotch’s heart is thundering in his chest, he’s really not in the mood to watch a father kill his son. “Just- Just-” he falters and that’s all it takes. Hotch shouts in horror as the father throws both himself and the son over the ledge. He’s aware of Reid shouting his name but he tears off for the desk. The whole way losing articles of clothing- his phone, his gun, his jacket-

The water hits like a punch, stealing the air from his lungs. He breaks the surface and his face burns from the freezing water and the wind. He shakes his hair out of his face, searching for blood or hair or- His eyes zero in on a small splash, a hand breaking the surface. 

He dives back under, muscles burning as he forces his way through the water. There’s a mass of murky movement, two bodies in motion. Hotch struggles to tell son from father for a moment- a moment too long. A hand reaches out and grabs his leg, puling him down too and he knows. 

With all the force he can manage he kicks down at the hand, a sickening water muffled snap coming to his ears. Hotch wraps his arms around the smaller figure, his lungs burning and body growing tired. He kicks them up but there are other limbs connecting with the soft tissues of his body. The cold has numbed his body and he doesn’t feel the pain that should be coordinated with those blows.

His head breaks the surface and all he feels is pain. Up his sides, in his lungs, and his face. “Stop-” his head goes back under the water, a wave knocking them back under and over. He has to fight harder to get them to the surface and the body in his arms turns limp- like a ragdoll.

This time Hotch’s head breaks the surface and there’s no pain. Just numb, soft cold. Hotch hooks his arm under the kid’s armpits, resting his head on Hotch’s chest. He lays on his back and starts to kick, starting the exhausting and long trip back to dry land. 

“I see him!” It’s Reid, his voice edged with panic. “Hotch! Keep swimming you’re almost there!”

A wave hits and Hotch is forced back under. His body stops fighting, for a moment his brain screams but his body just sinks. It’s not even a fight. The water stops feeling like water- it’s warm and… well, somethings just can’t be explained. His body is detached, his thoughts slowing. 

Jack-

The water fills his lungs and the blur of the world turns black.

Emily-

Sharp pain in his chest- 

Burning lungs, his eyes shoot open looking and seeing nothing. Water and stomach acid burning the back of his throat and on his back he chokes- the water starting to slip back down into his lungs when he’s seized by his belt and shirt sleeve, heaved up onto his side.

He gags, chest burning as water is forcibly removed from his lungs. He attempts to struggle away but it’s to no avail. His body is not responding. 

There are hands all over him, burning warmth spreading through his veins. Like lava. “Hello Agent,” an unfamiliar face greets. Hotch just stares at the other man as he’s vaguely aware of being laid on his back. A large hand cradling his neck. “Your friend told me dove in that water,” both men’s eyes wander to the dock and the waves crashing into it. “You suicidal or something,” the medic says with a shake of his head, “ or just stupid brave?”

The Emily in his head answers “stupid brave” but Hotch can’t manage anything more than a wheezing breath. It’s taking all he has to manage that. The medic keeps talking, going on about how Hotch is either crazy lucky or an unusually good swimmer. 

“Reid?” He croaks, his head feels heavy, wrong but he can see a familiar blur in a sea of red vehicles. How? How did he get out?

The medic stops his talking and frowns down at his patient. “Is that the scrawny one?” 

Hotch swallows thickly and nods.

The medic nods back, “he’s okay. Looks a bit like a drowned rat but he saved your ass.” He motions with his head to their left, just slightly up the bank. Reid is sitting on the bumper of an ambulance, a shock blanket around his shoulders. “He’s a tough kid, though.”

Hotch keeps his eyes locked on him, assessing the situation. Reid is stronger than he gives him credit for. 

A sudden weight is placed on the center of Hotch’s chest, a foot on his sternum. To his own ears his cry of pain is muffled. Vaguely, he’s aware of the sound of a monitor making frantic noises, the medic’s voice drowning in with it. Someone shouts his name but the black encroaching on his vision is too much. He succumbs to the lava in his veins. 

__________

Morgan knocks at the open door, hoping to draw Reid from his silence. “You okay, kid?” The nurse had said he was fine. They thought he was in shock but his core temperature hadn’t dropped that much thanks to the EMTs fast work at warming him up. That hadn’t spurred him to say anything though. 

He hasn’t said a word since they pulled him from Hotch.

Reid keeps rocking himself, knees tucked to his chest and arms around his shins. He’s still freezing and it’s all his fault. He should have been faster.

“Hotch!” The adrenaline is pumping back through Ried’s body, knees and hands shaking as he watches the waves hit the side of the dock but Hotch’s head doesn't come back up. There are no bubbles coming to the surface, no signs of a fight happening below the surface. “Hotch!”

It’s been a minute but when Hotch dove in he was under for nearly two. 

Seventy-six seconds.

Even if Hotch is a good swimmer-

Reid pulls his jacket off, stripping layers of clothing from his skin. This is such a bad idea. So bad. 911 has been called, back-up is on it’s way but that’s no good if Hotch drowns. 

“I hate this job,” he mumbles, staring into the water. “I hate it. I hate it. I hate it! I hate it!” He tears into it, knowing that this is bigger than his slight aquaphobia and the freezing sting of the water on his skin. “Hotch!” He takes a deep breath and plunges into the water. 

It hurts. Burns. It’s like a thousand hypodermic needles kissing his skin. 

He pushes his hair from his face, scanning the water. Looking back to the dock he estimates he needs to go about five more feet to his right. Using long strokes he cuts through the choppy water, a wave hitting his face. He has to stop and recover, blinking the sting from his eyes. “Hotch!”

And it’s still freaking snowing. 

Reid is begging Hotch to pop up. To hear his deep voice berate Reid for getting wet too.

He hates this job.

Reid dives under the next wave, forcing his eyes to open under the water. He’s afraid to see what he’ll find. His fingertips hit something hard and covered- hair! Reid pushes himself down further, lungs burning but he’s found someone and he can’t come up yet. 

He wraps his arms around the trunk of the other person- his brain supplying Hotch was wearing a white buttoned down shirt and the hurt digging into his skin is blunt like a button. He kicks with all his might but the body- Hotch- doesn’t move. His lungs are under too much pressure and with a silent cry he kicks himself up the surface.

“Argh!” He screams into the air, lungs burning in an entirely new way. He takes two deep breaths, treading water to gather his breath. He can’t give up. He goes back down. His panic is driving his heart rate up, making his oxygen last in even shorter amounts. 

His hands connect and he has to remind himself to save the energy of being happy. ‘Come on’, he pleads. Reid tucks Hotch closer, one armed wrapped around his chest and the other extended above his head. Feeling for where the water breaks to air. 

Every muscle in his body is screaming. Lactic acid building up in his muscles and if he had the air to he’d scream in anguish. 

His fingers sting and with a new burst of energy Reid’s head emmerages from the water. He gasps for water, his cold cramped fingers losing their grip for just a fraction of a second. Hotch slips from his grasp but Reid’s scream is muffled by the waves crashing around them. 

They’re going to die and it’s his fault.

He’s crying, tears streaming down his numb cheeks. He has to stay level headed, he has to fight. 

That’s what Hotch would do.

Right, Hotch.

Reid pulls him closer, flipping him into the rescue position. Head above water, breathing or not- it has to be enough. Hotch won’t forgive him, ever, if Reid saves Hotch to leave behind that boy. A killer or not.

The water is well beyond cold enough to, hypothetically, protect from brain damage. 

Reid has to pray that's enough.

He goes back under. His lungs hurt nearly as soon as his head goes under, the cold water hitting his forehead is strangely… nice. The rest isn’t.

It’s harder. All of it. 

The current twists him, his muscles tired from swimming. If he can’t find this kid soon, they’re all going to drown. 

A wave above crashes hard, it’s force pushing him down. 

He sees nothing. 

It’s all just black and freezing. 

He kicks into something and whirls around, finding flesh and hair. Reid pulls but the kid doesn’t move. For a moment, Reid nearly leaves him. His lungs are burning, his body exhausted, and with a long fight still ahead… The bodies had hesitation marks. Shallow marks where someone young- someone incapable of murder had done as requestied but not whole heartidly.

The kid isn’t a murderer. 

Reid kicks upwards with all his might, his head feeling like it’s going to explode. 

He breaks the surface and could sob with relief at the sight of the shore lit up with emergency lights. “Help!” His voice croaks, breaking. There’s no way they can hear him. Reid pulls the kid so he’s on his back, just as he had Hotch, and begins to tug them both in the direction of Hotch’s freely floating body. “Help!”

He rolls onto his back, taking a wave to the face. He recovers quickly, a new surge of adrenaline working through him. His limbs are shaky but working. “Alright,” he says to himself, floating for a second to gain control. “Let’s do this.” He grabs the back of Hotch’s collar and the kid’s shirt and kicks with everything he’s got. Hoping that the waves hitting his face can push him towards the shore. 

“Kid-”

Reid flinches, his whole body recoiling. He blinks slowly raising his head in confusion. “M-Morgan?” He looks around him, surprised to find hospital tile and not the wet sand he’d left Hotch on. “What-” his mouth is impossibly dry, his body still cold. 

Morgan takes a step closer to him, weary. In nothing but a hospital gown and a pair of hospital socks Morgan can see his friend’s bony body. It’s no surprise he didn’t hold up well in the freezing water- he doesn’t have any fat on his body to keep him warm!

“I brought you some clothes,” Morgan lifts Reid’s bag up. He sets it down on the bed beside Reid, allowing him easy access to the clothes. What he’s not expecting is for Reid to start crying. For a moment he’s just struck, he has no idea what to do. He takes a tentative step closer, putting his hand on Reid’s shoulder. “Hey,” Morgan gathers him up in his arms, holding him close. “Kid, what the hell? What's wrong?”

Reid shakes his head, pushing his face into Morgan’s warmth. He just wants someone alive, someone warm to hold him. “I’m sorry,” he sobs. All he can think about is Hotch. “I tried, I did!” 

Morgan pats his back, “what do you mean? What are you talking about?”

Reid’s chest heaves, his sob taking him by surprise. “Hotch!”

“Oh,” Morgan pauses for a moment, not sure what all he should tell Reid. “Kid, Hotch is…” fine might be an overstatement. A little rough but- “Hotch is sitting down in the ICU with Emily, right now.” He rubs Reid’s back, shushing him gently. “Kid, he’s fine. Hotch is gonna be fine.” 

Reid pulls his head back, “what?”

That can’t be true. Reid saw. 

The EMT pulled the buttons on Hotch’s perfect white shirt open. His chest bare and unmoving, as pale as the snow under his back. CPR wasn’t working. Reid saw. His ribs were bending under each compression but nothing was working. 

He was dead. 

Reid saw. Hotch was dead.

__________

“We caught the pulmonary edema early,” the doctor promises them. His tone is light, hopeful. “He’s on a course of diuretics to clear his lungs and on oxygen until his stats come back up but he’s already doing much better.” He nods his head, clearly happy to give them a good prognosis. “There was some irritation in his right ear so I want to start him on a course of antibiotics for that, to get ahead of the ear infection.”

Emily snorts, both her hands coming up to cover her mouth but her shoulders are still shaking with the force of her laughter. It’s a horrible moment of reacting to news the wrong way but an ear infection? “I’m so sorry,” she manages to force her palm against her lips. Forcing her smile down. “I’m- I really am sorry for that I don’t-” 

The doctor holds his hand up in a clear sign of acknowledging her apology. “It’s perfectly fine,” he reassures her. “Everyone has different reactions to these sorts of things.” His smile is a strange mix of sadness and amusement as he recalls giving grimmer news than this to families and garnering a similar reaction. “I assure you, it’s not the first time someone’s laughed.”

Emily isn’t sure whether to feel reassured or sick. She lowers her hands and wipes at the bottoms of her eyes, beyond the point of caring if she looks like a raccoon or not. “Is he- Can you take me to him?”

The doctor looks at the little group behind her, all looking equally as eager to his patient. “It’s against protocol to let all of you back, yet, but I can let one of you back.” There was a name, someone Agent Hotchner had managed to call out for. “He was asking for a-a…” he can’t remember the name though. “An Emma or-”

“Emily.”

The doctor nods, “yes. He asked for Emily.”

“Well,” Emily looks back at the other’s. Swallowing the lump in her throat she says, “I’m Emily.”

The doctor claps his hands together, “well, then come with me.”

Emily looks back over her shoulder once- to JJ and Rossi being left behind in the waiting room- and offers them a small wave. Smiling sadly when they wave back.

“He was alert when I went in a few minutes ago,” the doctor tells her, coming to a sudden stop. “Try not to get him too worked up-”

She’s partially aware of what he’s saying from then on out but her attention is on the man on the bed. The man intently watching her from under the oxygen mask across the bridge of his nose. The doctor pats her shoulder, offering a smile and she nods and smiles back despite not having a clue what he’s just said.

Stepping into the room, she hesitates for only a moment before taking his hand and sitting on the edge of his bed. “Hey.” He’s cold to the touch and she sets to rubbing his fingers between her own to warm them up. “How do you feel?” With her distraction in place, it’s easier to ignore the obvious pain in her chest. Tight and wrong.

He’s too pale for even him, shivering under the layers of shock blankets and heating pads pressed around his body, but he offers her a warm smile. Reaching up with fingers that are still too cold to work properly, he fails to pull the mask from his face. She pulls it down for him, tucking it under his chin. 

“Hey,” his voice is weak, hoarse from disuse. “I got an ear infection,” he rasps at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

She keeps the mask pulled back for a moment longer, leaning in and kissing him tenderly. She runs the side of her finger along his jaw, clenching her teeth in a failed attempt to hold her tears at bay. Carefully, she places the mask back on his face. Feeling a sick twist in her stomach because she’s glad it drowns out the sound of his labored breathing. “Serves you right.” 

He smirks at her, a goofy lopsided little thing. Oxygen deprived or still cruising on his adrenaline high he says something, intangible between his slurred exhaustion and the hiss of the oxygen over his face. She makes just enough of it out to lift the mask back up and asks, “did you ask me if I’d still love you if you were deaf?”

It’s hardly the time to be having “would you still love me” hypotheticals when he’s hardly awake. Especially when his breathing is still so rough and if it gets any worse it’ll be her fault. Then she’ll have to kiss her visitor’s pass goodbye. Still, she can’t help but love him and his stupid questions.

He nods.

“I think so,” she places the mask back down. She runs her hands through his hair, smiling as he curls himself closer to her. “I mean, you don’t listen to me now, what would change?” She chuckles after she says it and he wraps his arms around her waist, pulling at her. That’s when her chest gets tight, her emotions bubbling up as he frowns up at her with those big old sad eyes. 

She almost lost him. Permanently. This time there would be no Paris for recovery, Afghanistan for penance- just permanent goodbyes where the last things they said to one another were cruel misguided words. Things that didn’t matter because that’s how the world works. 

The credits cut before the movie’s over. 

Romeo and Juliet isn’t a love story.

And he dies on a dock. 

No more Sunday’s spent in his backyard. The two of them tangled in a hammock meant for one person. A book balanced on his chest, his voice a deep rumble and the only sound in the world- “ I had taught myself to covet nothing. It was not a loathing of death that froze me. I had taught myself to think of death as a friend. It was not heartbroken rage-” 

No one could properly replace him. 

She’d never felt this comfortable with another human being. To try on clothing, twirling in place to show him that it not only has pockets but it swishes when she moves. How many men would look up from whatever teen magazine quiz he was reading and raise an eyebrow in approval? Noting she also wouldn’t have to shave above her knee in it either. 

He pushes the mask away, twisting the flimsy plastic from his face. “Come here,” he manages, breathless. “Let me hold you.”

She’s momentarily adamant to get too close. He’s hurt and tired and- pulling her closer. “Fine but only for a minute,” she caves and she always caves when it comes to him. It takes a minute to work around the machines and the wires, then moving so she’s not laying on him. “I mean it, Aaron.” She tucks her head closer to his chest, breathing in the natural scent of him. Just Hotch.

“You scared us,” she whispers against his chest. 

She’s close enough now that he can smell her conditioner. “I scared myself.” It’s not like drowning was something he was looking to do. 

Emily looks up at him, turning her head on his shoulder. “Let’s not do that again then?”

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” his voice is rough again, breathing ragged. 

She reaches up and pulls the mask back over his face. Gently raking her nails through the hair at the side of his ears. “Get some sleep, huh?” He’s just a big softie and she knows that playing with his hair is going to put him out like a light. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.” 

“Promise?” he mouths, eyes dropping already.

And how is she gonna say no? “Always,” she whispers. She holds him closer, scratching at his head. 

She’s waiting for his soft snore but now she wraps him up in her arms. Enjoying his proximity. He may be a stupid man but that’s what she signed up for.

[davids-cartoon-corkboard]

Do you think that if Shredder!Raph will occur in rottmnt, the aftermath might result in Raph inheriting some of Shredder’s rage even after saved? Maybe that is how the crew is going to implement Raph’s trademark temper throughout previous generations and maybe even make him have to step down due to it, making Leo the new leader?

Short answer: “Inheriting the rage of a centuries-old demon" is a dope-ass idea, so if you’re a writer I would definitely encourage you to use that in your own stuff. But I think that if Raph’s temper worsens throughout the show, it should be because of his own character development and not a magical effect. However, a Shredder!Raph scenario could contribute to said worsening temper by inflicting emotional/psychological damage instead. :)

Long answer ahoy!

Looking at “Many Unhappy Returns” from the Shredder’s perspective makes it very clear why he does what he does. Like, he’s been dead for five hundred years, and then something went wrong with his resurrection. He’s waking up with no idea where he is or what’s going on and oh shit those guys are pointing weapons at him, that’s a threat!

Note that he doesn’t even bolt for them immediately, he does a warning stomp and screech (back off!) before starting to approach.

Those other guys are yelling, that’s also a threat,

and they’re closer so he’s gonna attack them first, actually. (None of the Foot wind up even comically injured, suggesting that flailing them around was an intimidation tactic rather than genuine Murderous Intent.)

And then the first group attacks, so of course he’s going to retaliate.

And then suddenly he’s somewhere else, with other threats (the animatronics), and then the first group that attacked him is back, so he’s gonna fight them again.

And these jerks just keep following him? He’s not going to ignore that. And WOW that’s a lot of bright lights and loud noises, which are also threats, what the fuck is going on?!

And then this tiny human girl chucks a giant metal box at him, holy SHIT?! Sure, the Shredder is a dangerous antagonist, but at this point I wouldn’t call him a “bad guy”, he’s literally just responding to what’s happening to him.

In summary, the Shredder was stressed tf out because he didn’t know where he was or what was happening, he retaliated against perceived threats, and quite possibly wouldn’t have attacked the turtles in the first place if they hadn’t just rushed in without understanding the situation.

Gosh, doesn’t that sound familiar?

So yeah, I’m waiting for Rise to give us that good good Shredder!Raph content.

As for the possibility of Leo taking over afterwards... no, but also yes, sort of? On the one hand, we know that Leo does have leadership capabilities, and it would be a waste for the narrative to not explore that. On the other hand, Rise has broken from the status quo in many ways, and it would also be a waste for the show to do a complete 180 and return to Leo Being The Leader™.

Consider how the “leader” role has influenced Leo in past iterations: his perfectionism wears on him and his brothers, any failure tanks his self-esteem, he feels isolated from the rest due to taking on such a large share of responsibility, being an authority figure grinds everyone’s gears, etc. It’s just bad for his mental health.

No doubt all this responsibility will also wear on Rise!Raph as the story progresses and the stakes get higher. It will be bad for him as well. But if Raph steps down, Leo will once again suffer from the weight of this role. So if neither option is quite correct, if neither brother can shoulder the burden of leadership alone, then the solution is just... for neither of them to shoulder the burden of leadership alone. Sure, Raph will probably remain leader in title and in spirit, but Leo taking on a sort of “deputy” role makes sense from a strategic standpoint, and would be good for his character development.

Here’s how I think it could go down:

The Shredder!Raph scenario will be different from the Shredder!Draxum scenario. The Shredder was starved for mystic energy the first time around, so he immediately chewed Draxum up and spit him out. But Raph could be compared more to a battery than a meal; it will take a while for the Shredder to drain him. And at this point the Shredder could be back in “evil samurai” mode, and thus will understand the value of holding Raph hostage.

Y’all who have followed my blog for a bit know about my “Raph is a system” theory; that when he was little, he got separated from his family and pursued by some cryptid hunter. This trauma formed Savage Raph, who is able to handle “being lost/alone/threatened” when Host Raph cannot. “Pizza Puffs” didn’t give us a lot of info about who I’m calling “Red Raph”, but he made his presence known when Host Raph was sort of... "emotionally alone”? In that his brothers were dying a little bit and too stoned to care.

So if Raph is trapped inside a living cage, scared and helpless and hurt and exhausted, his family unable to help him... he’s not going to be able to handle it.

Or, rather, Host Raph isn’t going to be able to handle it.

These two can, though.

I’m imagining a scene in the mindscape where the Shredder says something like “Your pathetic family cannot bear to strike you down, and so there is nothing that can stand in m- wait, why are there three of you OW FUCK-” Red and Savage will mentally kick his ass long enough for the other turtles to rip off a chunk of the armor so Leo can portal it into another dimension or something. Shredder gets K.O.’d since he’s not whole anymore, and the battle is won.

Since the armor didn’t drain Raph as severely as it did Draxum, he won’t become as weak as Draxum did. However, it will still take him some time to recover. Raph trusts Leo in serious moments as of “Many Unhappy Returns”, and he already took charge when Raph wasn’t available back in “Man vs. Sewer”. So Raph will be like, “Hey Leo, can you handle the Mad Dogs for a bit? Just long enough for me to get back on my feet.” And Leo will be like, “Sure bro, I’ve got this.”

He does not, in fact, “got this”. Leo’s ego has caused trouble before (”Shell in a Cell”, “Minotaur Maze”), and being in charge will no doubt go to his head. This has the potential for both comedy and seriousness, leading to wacky mishaps and genuine danger. Being the leader is hard work and it’s not always fun, but someone has to do it and Leo will have to put the others before himself for it to get done. Once Leo realizes this, he could bond with Raph by asking for his advice on leadership. Sometimes Leo will follow the advice and sometimes he won’t, sometimes that will work out and sometimes it won’t, laying the foundation for the idea that there are situations where it will be better for one or the other to lead, rather than having one lead all the time. But that will only happen for a few episodes, because Raph will heal quickly and he’ll be the leader again and everything will be fine!

Everything will not, in fact, be fine. Raph is the strongest in the family, the tank, the one who can take a hit so the smaller ones don’t have to... the idea of being hurt, of being weak, scares him because his family is also in danger if he’s unwell. So I don’t think he’ll acknowledge to anyone, not even himself, that getting possessed hurt him emotionally as well as physically. And when a wound isn’t acknowledged, it doesn’t get tended to, and when a wound isn’t tended to, it gets worse.

That he’s a system will add another layer of complexity to this. The Shredder!Raph incident would make all the alters aware of each other via mindscape shenanigans, but it would also leave them with the fear of not being in control, so I think they’ll come in conflict with each other for a bit. They’ll argue with themselves, switch, and lose time more often, enough that it impedes their ability to function and the other characters start to notice something is wrong.

Host Raph will convince himself that Everything Is Fine and try to get things “back to normal”, which probably means he’s just straight-up not going to acknowledge that he's a system. He’ll rationalize that he’s always “gotten weird” from time to time, so it’s nothing to think too hard about... right?

Savage Raph will be on high alert because they just survived a near-death (a near soul-destroying) experience. He’ll probably take the front and go overboard fighting some villains that Host Raph could have ordinarily fought on his own. It might also take a while to convince Savage Raph that these “sewer monsters” who keep following him around really don’t mean him any harm.

Red Raph will get snappy (pardon the pun) about the more social aspect of “not being in control”; that Host Raph asked Leo to be in charge and then Leo started being an egotistical dumbass. And when Leo does make the right decisions, Donnie and Mikey might side with him over Raph, and that will also grind his gears.

Mix all that together and you have a recipe for a capital b Breakdown.

So yeah, I can definitely see how the Shredder!Raph incident and its aftermath would worsen all three of their tempers, trauma will fuck up your emotions real bad. Perhaps Host Raph loses faith in himself and tries to step down and get Leo to replace him as leader... only for Leo to be like “Bro I cannot do this full time I will one hundred percent have my own Breakdown if that happens.”

The life lessons here are that Leo learns to offer support by sometimes taking the leader role; not to benefit his own ego, but because he wants to help Raph. And Raph learns to accept support by letting Leo be in charge sometimes; not because he’s weak or incapable, but because he can’t always be a Staunch Immovable Rock and he needs to let himself rest by trusting Leo.

And then the Raphs can work on communicating, cooperating, letting their allies know about them, digging into their trauma, etc. now that they have some breathing room.

(Do you think the Hidden City has therapists? Steven Universe and Mao Mao both have therapists can we BLEASE get one for Raph.)

[tloujm]

Part IV: I Was His & He Was Mine

Author’s Notes: The chapter is the calm before the storm. Now, as stated below, there be smut! This isn’t my first time writing smut and its sure as hell not my first time reading it. To be specific, I’ve written smut between two people before. This is my first attempt at a masturbation scene. Be warned, I’m not an expert, so take everything with a grain of salt. I hope you still enjoy though; I tried my best. 

Genre: ahhhh sookie sookie now, things are smutty smutty now; but don’t worry, there’s some fluff too

Summary: You and Joel are officially a couple. Its basically three different imagines combined into one chapter. I tried to make them flow, but they’re really just glimpses into their domestically blissful lives. 

Ship: Joel x Reader

Jackson survived another winter. Despite the harsh weather, it was probably the highlight of the year. It didn’t take long for people to notice that you and Joel were together. Tommy and Maria especially loved it. You always felt accepted by them, but now there was more of a familial bond. The four of you found time for more family dinners. You and Joel hosted Thanksgiving while Tommy and Maria took care of Christmas. Maybe you’re a hopeless romantic, but the winter time was sort of magical. 

Joel asked you to move in soon after the two of you started seeing each other. It made no sense to keep going back and forth between beds especially when you two lived on the same property. You’d never got that far in a relationship before, so it was new, but with Joel it didn’t feel wrong. Everyday, he made sure you felt loved and there was nothing you wanted more than to show that same love back to him. You remembered the first time those precious three words were said. It was after the two of you had sex for the first time. He turned you around and spooned before draping the covers back over you. He asked if you were comfortable as his arm snaked over your middle. You said yes and kissed his knuckles. They were rough but warm. He was always so warm. Then, you said it. You couldn’t hold it back anymore and you weren’t afraid to be the first one. You held your tongue during sex because you didn’t want him to think it was just because of that. You wanted him to know that how you felt was real. Him saying it right back, though, sent your head reeling. You knew that he loved you but to hear him say it for the first time was exhilarating. 

As the nights got warmer, the two of you would sit on the porch and play your respective instruments. It was mostly playful little strums but sometimes Joel would turn a little ditty into a full fledged song. He was gifted. You wished that it came as easily for you as it did him. You watched him play. He looked so at peace tapping his foot and bobbing his head to the rhythm. The melodic tune was so tranquil that it almost lulled you to sleep right there on the porch. If he hadn’t stopped, he probably would have had to carry your sleeping form to bed. 

“Now, I want you to play me somethin’” He said. 

“Who me?” You asked rhetorically. “I guess I could try.” You picked up your ukulele.

“That’s all I ask.” He said, setting his guitar down against the house.

“Um…” You tried to remember what he taught you about the guitar so you could apply it to your instrument. You played a few basic chords but when you tried to do something more complicated, the notes began to jumble and it all fell through.

“That’s startin’ to sound like somethin’.” He said encouragingly. 

“Ugh, I suck.” You make a disgusted face.

“Nah, you just need to build up your calluses is all. Here, let me see your hands.” He gestured you over by patting his thighs. You got up from your rocking chair and sat on his lap. He took the Ukulele from your hand and sat it next to his guitar. “Like these.” He showed you his hands. You were well acquainted with them, but you enjoyed the closeness nonetheless. He unraveled the fist your hand naturally formed and gently slid his fingertips across your palm. “Your hands are too soft.”

“Oh? You want them rough like yours?” You playfully asked. He chuckled and shook his head. “Uhhhuhhh.”

“You’re getting better though.” He encouraged again. You grunt and shrug your shoulders. “Just remember what I said, keep your thumb---”

“Thumb behind the neck and use your fingertips and not your fingerpads.”

“Glad to see I’m gettin’ through to you.” He said sarcastically. You made a move to leave the porch but Joel’s arms tightened around your waist. “Now, where do you think you’re goin’?”

“I was going to put my ukulele up and call it a night.” You responded.

He dug his face into your shoulder. “Don’t go.” The words came out muffled but you still heard him. You moved your arms and wrapped them around his neck before laying your lips on his forehead. 

“Then, I’ll stay.” And the two of you did for a few solid minutes.

“Y’know, when I was a kid,” He stopped and let out a breathy laugh. “I wanted to be a singer.”

“Shut up!” You laughed with him. “Really? Joel Miller, the singer? That’s sensational.”

“I’m serious.”

“I believe you! Sing for me.” You requested.

He shook his head and fiddled with a button on your shirt. “Uh, no.”

“I bet you sound really nice!” You said but he didn’t respond. “I won’t laugh. Please?” You beg in a voice Joel could only describe as adorable. 

“Maybe another time.” He was serious. In truth, he was self conscious, even in front of you. Music had always been near and dear to him. It was one thing to share his guitar skills, but his voice was different. He knew he wasn’t the best singer, but when he was younger, he figured that if he could find a vocal coach, maybe he could actually be successful at it. He scoffed at his thoughts, as the dream seemed so distant now. 

“Come to bed with me?” You asked in a whisper.

He smiled. “‘Course.” He kissed the arm still wrapped around his neck before tapping your thigh. You got up and grabbed both instruments. He opened the front door for you and turned off the porch light.

*****

Sometimes Joel’s patrol job could be a multi day excursion. Because of his level of experience, he was trusted with doing the longer, harsher routes. What gave you comfort was knowing that he wasn’t by himself out there. He never left without a group of two other equally experienced people. When you especially missed him, you would spend time in his craft room. That and his pillow reminded you of him the most. Today, you decided to relax in there. You grabbed a book from downstairs and settled down on the loveseat in his room. You only managed to get one page in before thoughts of him distracted you. It was not enough to be in his space, you had to imagine that he was there. 

You looked up at his desk. It was covered in sawdust and unfinished figurines. He would make them for the children in the community. Despite his cold exterior, he had a soft spot for kids. Toys were often not a priority when scavenging, so they were grateful for the things he’d make. It was a win-win. The kids got to be kids and Joel got to keep his hands busy. What couldn’t that man do with his hands? You smiled at the thought. His passion project was building a guitar from scratch, though. He used the one that he found as a model. Various parts of the guitar were strewn across the table. Looking at the curved edges of the guitar’s body made you think back to when he first sanded them down. His hands skimmed the surface; top to bottom. His muscles flexed through the motions. You let out a little whimper before changing positions in the loveseat. If you weren’t facing the table, thoughts of him couldn’t distract you. Or at least that’s what you wanted to think. Soon enough, you learned that that was far from the truth. Giving up, you sat the book down and went to your shared room. 

You gently closed the door behind you. The pants were the first to come off, then it was your shirt. You crawled into the middle of your bed with nothing but your underwear on. You allowed your hands to caress different parts of your body. Closing your eyes, you imagined that they were his. Your smaller, softer hands could not compare, however. Still, you continued your blind search. Your hands quickly found themselves down your panties and to your clit. You massaged it for a few moments before turning over on your knees. You grabbed two pillows and lined them up before straddling one between your thighs. Arching your back, you began to grind to maintain the sensation. Your hips quickly found a rhythm while your hands slid under your bra. You rubbed and squeezed your breasts like he would. Your body was becoming more sensitive and you were determined to ride out the sensation. Within seconds, the clasp was released and your bra was tossed to the side. As your body moved up and down the pillows, your nipples dragged against the bed. You slipped a hand down your middle as you began to pulsate. You rubbed circles around your clit before abandoning the pillows altogether. You slid over to the edge of the bed and started to grind over the corner. You squeezed your thighs with every stroke. With your face planted on the bed, you slid your other fingers into your entrance. You contracted around them for several moments longer until the built up pressure finally released. 

Your favorite part of being with Joel was the end. You would keep him hostage inside you every time you closed around him. You could see the struggle in his face as he fought off the impulse to cum inside you. As an erotic contraceptive, he would spill onto your stomach instead. After getting yourself off, you found yourself missing that part. You found yourself missing him. You climbed back onto the bed and cuddled the pillows, one between your legs and the other hugged by your arms. It was such a comfortable feeling that you soon fell asleep. 

*****

For Joel, today was just like any other day. He woke up next to you, took a shower, made breakfast and waited for you to wake so you could eat together. Even though the routine appeared mundane on paper, he was more than content. He was happy and it was because of you. He never said it out loud, even in front of you, but he was afraid of being alone again. Not the kind of alone where you’re reading a book by yourself or eating in the corner of the bar at a table for one. He’d grown accustomed to going through life alone after the infection. His family had fallen apart and he had to learn how to fend for himself. He even learned how to benefit from being alone after a while. It wasn’t until he crossed paths with you and reunited with his brother that he realized how being alone truly made him feel and he did not ever want to go back to that. At times, he found himself paranoid over losing you again. He fought those thoughts by reminding himself that you were here with him. You loved him back and it made his heart swell, almost to the point of breaking; a feeling he hadn’t experienced in at least a decade. 

“Hey, I was gonna make breakfast today.” You protested as you came downstairs. You followed the smell of eggs, buttered toast and freshly squeezed orange juice.

“I was already up.” Joel said nonchalantly.

“See, that’s your problem. You don’t let yourself sleep in.” You playfully accuse.

He chuckled. “I can’t sleep in,” He pushed your plate toward you. “I have work today.”

“Today? I thought you were off.”

He shook his head. “Nathan asked me to cover him in his scavenging group yesterday. His son is sick and Sheila’s still on patrol…” He faded out before stuffing a piece of toast in his mouth. 

“Oh.” You said. Joel noticed the wheels moving in your head.

“You can join us today. I know you like scavenging and we could use another good shot.” Joel offered. 

“I would love to, but I can’t. I promised Donna I’d help her in the gardens.” It was a lie. You were usually not opposed to lying, especially since it has saved your ass multiple times when traveling. After starting a relationship with Joel, you’d become more conscious about lies and you didn’t want to be hypocritical. It was just a little white lie which you deemed ok, however. 

“Oh. Well, I’ll miss you.” He said as he got up. He walked over and lifted your chin before kissing you. “Save me a couple of apples?”

You nodded with a smile. “Of course.”

“And not one of those green ones.”

“I know, you like the dark red ones.” You said. He matched your smile, thinking about how much he appreciated you, even with the little things. You waved as he left for the day.

You cleaned the dishes, wondering what to do now. You had the whole day planned out for you and Joel. Of course, you hadn’t told him this the day before. You were convinced that his day would stay open. Why would he work today of all days? You were just going to have to rearrange some things for when he came back from the scavenging trip. After the kitchen was cleaned, you got ready for the day and went down to the gardens to get his apples.

Later that evening, Joel came back home. It was dark inside the house. Joel flipped the switch. Your name caught in his throat as he found you sleeping on the couch. He was glad that he saw you when he did because he was ready to yell out your name. Joel had gotten home later than planned. The scavenging group arrived back in Jackson after dark, but it was still too early to find you sleeping. Joel was usually the first to fall asleep between you two. You were the night owl and he was the morning bird. 

You woke up as he slung your arms around his neck. He was going to carry you to bed but you protested as soon as you gained consciousness. He was surprised at how quickly you woke up and sat you back down on the couch.

“Joel!” You woke up startled. “Shit, what time is it?” Napping had always disoriented you. Seeing the darkness from the windows didn’t help. You looked around for the clock.

“Quarter to ten. Sorry I’m late, darlin’. There was this store that we couldn’t pass up on our route but it took some extra work to get into.”

“Oh,” There’s still time, you thought to yourself. “That’s alright. As long as you’re back safe.” You began to get giddy with excitement. Joel smiled at how you cared. He let his body fall onto the couch, slumping into the cushions.

He stretched his arm out around your shoulder just as you got up. “Hey, where you goin’ now?” He frowned.

“I’ll be right back!” You ran into the dining room and back within record time. You came back with a big box in your hands.

He looked up at it with tired eyes. “What’s this?”

“Happy Birthday, my love.” You said, holding the box out for him to take. 

He shook his head with a smile. “How did you know about that?”

“So you can know about mine, but I can’t know about yours?” You asked playfully. “I asked Tommy awhile back.”

“You coulda just asked me.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise. I had the whole day planned out as a surprise but then…” You faded off.

“Sorry, (Y/N). If I would have known, I would have said no to Nathan.”

“Well, that would have ruined the point of the surprise, silly. Now, just open your gift.” You demand excitedly. You knew he was going to be happy with it.

“Yes, Ma’am.” A look of confusion crossed his face as he took it in his hands. “Seems kinda light for such a big box.” 

“All part of the surprise to throw you off.” 

He did as he was told and you watched as his face went through a multitude of expressions. “Um...Is this what I think it is, darlin’?” Joel held up a blunt between his fingers.

“That is exactly what you think it is.” You gave him a mischievous smile.

“Where did you find weed?”

“God, you wouldn’t believe.” You shook your head. “It was from Eugene!” His eyes widened. “Yeah, during the winter, me and my patrol group had to make a detour because of the weather, so we found this building that appeared abandoned but it looked like Eugene beat us to it. He turned the whole basement into a garden of marijuana plants. I fucking swear. He had rolling papers there, so I rolled two and took them with me.”

“How do you know it was Eugene’s?” He asked, twiddling it between his fingers.

“I recognized some of his stuff around the place.”

“You showed your patrol group this?”

“We had to wait out a whole blizzard. How do you think we killed our time?” Another slick smile crossed your face to which Joel playfully shook his head. “Don’t worry, we made sure to leave no evidence that we were ever there...other than the missing blunts. We swore each other to secrecy, but I figured I’d make a little exception for my baby on his birthday.”

Joel chuckled. “You’re too kind, darlin’.” He took a whiff of the blunt before setting it back down for later. “Now, this.” He pulled out a glass jar with a worn label, smiling ear to ear. He was speechless.

“You like it?” You knew he did. 

He glared at you sarcastically. “How did you find coffee beans?”

“I picked up a few scavenging shifts of my own a while back. We were inside this large house and the person who owned it must have loved coffee too because this is good quality stuff right here. Look at that label, or what’s left of it. It looks fancy!”

“That it does.”

“And I traded for this mortar and pestle right here,” You reached inside the box. “When that group passed through last month, remember?” He nodded before looking back up at you. “I figured you could use it to grind the beans. It's stone, so hopefully it’ll hold up well.”

“Mmmhmm.” He hummed in agreement. You looked back at him and smiled. “Thank you, baby. I love it all.” The way he looked at you so genuinely mingled with his deep, Texas drawl? You almost lost it. 

“You’re welcome, my love.” You cupped his bearded cheek and kissed him. You gently pushed away before it could go deeper. “What do you say we leave the coffee ‘til the morning and light up now?” You gesture toward the blunt on the coffee table. 

Without words, Joel reached into his back pocket and pulled out his lighter. Your grin grew as you held the blunt up to his flame. You were about to take a drag, but you turned the blunt around and placed it between his lips. You told him that it was his birthday, so he got to have the first puff. For the rest of the hour, the two of you passed it back and forth before putting out the stub in the mortar. The two of you became a fit of coughs and laughter which lasted well into the night. You didn’t know about Joel, but it hit you harder than you thought it would. The two of you ate through all of the fruit in the bowl on the counter and the homemade granola bars you made the other day. 

You were picking with the granola crumbs on your shirt when you caught Joel looking at you a certain way. You were not a stranger to this look. You licked the crumbs off your fingers and squinted your eyes in playful curiosity. A coy smile grew on your face to match his. Joel patted his lap. He didn’t have to ask twice. You crawled on top and his face was immediately glued to yours. You grinded over his jeans as your fingers snaked through his hair. His tongue entered your mouth and danced with yours. The air was filled with nothing but panting and moans. You lifted up to unzip his pants and pulled him out of his underwear. You licked the palm of your hand before reaching back down and wrapping your fingers around his member. It was a slow and gentle stroke at first. Your thumb ran over the precum from the head and dragged it all the way down. As his breathing became more and more shallow, you began to tug faster. Your eyes were locked on him. You reached your other hand down to fondle the rest. He twitched in your hands; you could feel what was coming. It was only a matter of moments before he released all over his shirt and your hand. He rested his head back against the couch. You helped him remove his button down and put it in the dirty laundry. Shirtless and pants undone, he grabbed your hand and pulled you upstairs to bed.

[monchikyun]

XIII. give you everything

Connor can’t help but laugh when a palm lands on his cheek ever so softly. 

“You’re aware that I can’t feel physical pain, right?” 

“Shut up,” Gavin pretends that he’s bothered by that rhetorical question, but the hint of a smile trying to force its way in doesn’t go undetected. Ever since the morning, his face has been graced by the shade of red Connor can’t get enough of, which is the main reason for his good mood.  

Somehow they ended up playing rock-scissors-paper and Gavin insisted that the loser should receive some form of punishment, “to spice it up a little”. He thinks that the man just wants to test how advanced his programming is, to find out whether he’s even capable of losing. The truth is he could accurately estimate Gavin’s move if he concentrated enough, but then this would be no fun now, would it. 

Of course, he had to draw paper in their first round and the fact that Gavin immediately went for scissors was all but unexpected. The man himself can be sharp like a knife when you touch the wrong side of him. 

Connor has a hard time admitting to himself that he lost on purpose because he can’t quite figure out why. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Gavin mumbles and invites him for a rematch. 

He supposes there are better ways to spend their free time, but since no one is willing to talk about what is going on between them, childish games count as the next best thing. 

And Connor really enjoys the limbo they trapped themselves in. It’s just warm enough without the possibility of leaving burns. Luke-warm, if he’s being honest with himself. A bit bland. Still, he could live with that. He can ignore the longing in Gavin’s eyes if it keeps them safe like this. 

“Guess I win this time.” Gavin’s fist uncurls in disappointment, preventing Connor from enveloping it in his ‘paper’. 

“You sure you didn’t cheat with your robo mind-reading power?” There is nothing but playfulness seeping from his voice, still, Connor can’t believe he even has to ask. 

“You really do think highly of me, don’t you?”

“So that would be a ‘no’.” He squeezes his eyes shut and winces in anticipation. 

“I’ll be gentle, I promise.” 

And he is, imitating the slap he got just a couple of minutes ago. 

“Seriously? Well, that was kinda underwhelming.” He sounds almost dissatisfied. Connor never considered Gavin was into that kind of stuff but one never knows what the other person might be hiding. Not that he minds, it’s just a piece of information he needs to get used to. 

“So was yours.” He smirks at him, creating a petulant frown on his friend’s face. 

“Good point.” At least he doesn’t initiate a fight. It would be a shame if something ruined their so-far peaceful day. 

The snow has finally stopped falling, letting a ray of sunshine peek through the thick clouds. He would suggest taking a walk if Gavin hasn’t coughed three times in the past two hours. Connor has been monitoring his vitals, not noticing any significant change to his health, but that might have been only thanks to their current sufficiently heated location. At least according to his scans it is so, because the detective’s hands rub his arms up and down in an attempt to get rid of the cold only he can feel. 

“If only you had a perfectly comfortable sweater to wear.., what a pity,” Connor shakes his head in theatrical sorrow. 

“Oh, wait.” 

The darts coming from Gavin prick his skin without having to look at him at all. Now, this is fun. 

“You do!.” 

The man seems offended by his toothy grin, which makes it grow even wider. 

“For phck’s sake, Connor. I told you I’ll wear that over my dead body.” 

“Guess I’ll have to kill you then.” 

He means it as a stupid joke, but the air turns serious as soon as his mouth lets out those words. 

“Sorry.” 

He shouldn’t be the one letting himself be carried away by the moment, no matter how carefree it might have been. 

But Gavin doesn’t react to his feeble apology, busy making himself smaller to contain some of his bodily heat. His temperature is still within the norm, but that doesn’t tell him anything about what might happen in the next several hours. Days. 

He repeats his actions from the night before, placing his blanket around the man’s shoulder, letting his hands linger a little longer than they should. 

They spend the rest of the day wasting their time by playing all the games from Gavin’s childhood that Connor would never have the opportunity to experience otherwise. It’s a nice gesture, if that indeed is the intention behind it. Could be that this is the detective’s idea of dealing with boredom. And since they’ve decided to forget all about their work while they’re here, there weren’t many options left if they wanted to avoid all communication that could direct them to the forsaken grounds, also known as a personal dialogue. 

Connor almost had to force-feed Gavin the lunch he ordered for him, fighting against his endless excuses of not being hungry. He needs the strength if his condition is to worsen, and he’d make sure he gets it, even if it ended up in him having to shove a spoon inside his human mouth and nearly choking him to death. The man does sometimes act like a misbehaving toddler, but he figures that’s just a part of his charm. Besides, he likes taking care of him, it makes him fulfilled, for more reasons than one. It reminds him that he’s capable of so much more than just police work. 

It’s late in the afternoon now, the sky has gone dark and their carefully structured conversation quieted down into a pleasant silence. The only light source in their room is provided by the muted television which no one pays any attention to. 

Gavin is sitting on the ground, backed propped by the side of his bed. He’s still snuggled in Connor’s blanket, cradling a cup of tea the android has made for him. 

He has packed plenty of supplies with him, thinking they might come in handy. It’s better to be over-prepared than the opposite, an opinion that this trip has confirmed to him. 

Connor has just got off the phone with Tina, assuring himself that Sumo is being adequately spoiled. He really misses that oversized lump of fur, but the dog is doing just fine without him, so he has nothing to complain about.  

Checking up on Gavin he notices his temperature has risen above what’s deemed healthy. He sits next to him and retracts the skin on his hand, pressing it on the man’s forehead to extract the precise reading, just to be certain.  

“Yeah, I know,” Gavin says, clearly defeated. He shifts a bit and looks at him like he’s seeing the most beautiful being in the world, setting the now half-empty cup aside. 

“C’me here.” 

Maybe it’s the medicine he took twenty minutes ago finally kicking in, making his brain all mushy and body too clingy, but Gavin magically pulls him in his lap and holds him like he’s the last of his kind. He rests his head on the android’s chest, and Connor is too weak to deny him this show of vulnerability. Even if it’s likely drug-induced. They stay like this for a while, basking in each other’s touch, breathing in the tender atmosphere. Their hands have found each other too, fitting together like opposite poles. His spare one is threading through Gavin’s hair, messing it up on purpose. Connor loves seeing it like that, it feels intimate to him. A secret side of the man reserved only for those who are closest to him. It’s nice. Too nice. 

The moment is so overwhelmingly light it doesn’t even occur to him how dangerous his actions are. How those small acts can wedge a rift between them if he isn’t careful enough. 

But it’s too late to back out because Gavin kisses his chest, the place whereunder his mechanical heart beats loudly. And it doesn’t stop there. He traces those kisses up along his collar bone, his jaw, his neck, eliciting a content hum from him in the process. When he comes close to his lips, the man hesitates for a second that seems like an eternity, but ultimately decides to give in. 

And that where Connor draws the line. Snapping out of his trance, he quickly shoves his hand in front of his mouth to prevent Gavin from doing something he won’t be able to take back. 

“I’m sorry,” comes the muffled expression of regret. He truly loathes having to say that phrase so often because he apparently can’t do a single thing right in his life. 

He climbs off Gavin, dropping his body right next to him instead. 

“Why,” the man breathes softly. 

“I- I can’t. I can’t give you everything you want, Gavin.” He tries to communicate his despair through his doleful gaze, which his friend appears to be drowning in. 

“What-” Connor grabs the upper side of Gavin’s hand, guiding it towards him in an answer. It discomforts him greatly, but he leads it to where his genitals would be if he had any. He’s not the only one unsettled by this, for he senses Gavin struggle against his grip and at this point he has no choice but to set him free.

“You phcking toaster, you think I don’t know that?” he laughs without mirth. 

“You think that… that I want you just for your body?” 

Connor has hurt the man again, despite trying to do the exact opposite. 

“...no?” 

“No!” It’s not that difficult to believe, but not as easy when the truth has been spoken out loud. 

Gavin leans back into him, resting his head on his shoulder. At least they haven’t spiralled down the path of pretend animosity. 

“You don’t mind that I’m not a man?” Connor has never really regarded himself as one. It’s a label that doesn’t feel right to him. He’s simply himself, a human-like android who has been given a soul. There is no need for something else.

“I don’t care what or who you are, Con. As long as it’s you that’s inside, I wouldn’t mind if you were a phcking jellyfish, I’d… I’d love you all the same.” 

“You… you love me.”  The world around him gets blurry as he can’t quite process what he just heard.

“Is that so surprising, tin can?” Gavin chuckles, his own tears audible in that delightful sound.  

He wants to say it back, every inch of his being is urging him to do so, but his brain has frozen over and refuses to receive any command his heart gives him.

The words are stuck in his chest, leaking out through his close eyes, unable to be turned into any shape. They stab him with their intensity over and over, making him want to pluck them out and throw them at the person who has created them. 

“I-”

“You don’t have to, Con.” 

Maybe neither of them is ready to carry the weight behind that sentence just yet.

@a-convin-new-year i had to change the title a bit to suit my story hope you don’t mind 

[drowning-rats-in-fandoms]

Y/N is an intelligence officer on Ren's ship and he always goes to her before missions

When she first gets hired, she always has the mission information sent to him as early as possible

During the debriefing missions, she has the balls to corrent and add information that aas left out or wrong

It's almost always directed to Hux

Kylo enjoys watching someone else irritate Hux by doing their job

When the missions became more sporadic and information was being brought in left and right, Y/N moved her living quarters closer to Kylo's and Hux's living quarters so when she needs to present the information, she goes to them any hour of the day

Hux hates it, wishing to fire her. He know how important she is to the First Order, so he can't

Kylo doesn't care what time she delivers information. Y/N isnt like the guards that stumble over their words and take for ever to relay information

Y/N shows up (after sometime she is given Kylo's code of access to his quarters), hands him her data pad, and leaves.

Hux get an older model of data pads, Kylo gets her own. Her information is all stored on those two devices

Kylo always returns her pad to the table in her quarters. Hux never seeks Y/N out to give it back.

One mission in particular was stressful

On both their ends

Y/N has a translator implanted in her brain to allow her to read and decipher words

During the mission debrief, Hux suggested that Y/N should go along since she mentioned one(1) time that she is one of the only people able to decipher those words

Kylo immediately rejected, having grown fold of his coworker, not romantically of course

"Commander Ren, General Hux is correct. I should go on the mission."

"You have no field training, you'll hold us back. We can just send you video of the dialect." He thought he had a point

"I remember you forgetting to ask what my previous job was commander, may I fill you in?" She snaps right back, General Hux smirking that she is now attacking Ren instead of him.

"Please, enlighten me." Kylo leaned back in his seat, arms crossed. She was nothing more than a brain.

Y/N untucked her uniform to show a gnarly scar lacerating her entire side.

"That was my last bounty hunting job I did with a mandalorian. Saved his skin and his ship. Left me for dead. General Hux has been watching me for a while to recruit me, saw his chance." Y/N would never credit Hex with saving her life, even though they both knew it.

"I know my way around any weapon you give me. I'll do my job and stay out of your way." She sits down in her seat, readjusting her clothes.

Kylo sits there for a moment, empathetic for her, his mask not showing it.

"Report at the hanger at 0600 tomorrow. Stop by the arsenal to pick a weapon." Kylo then leaves in a rush, the meeting quickly adjourned

He

Never

Left

Her

Side

The crypt was filled with strange coffins, some decorated, some not.

Cobwebs and rodents fill the place, Commander Ren taking lead and eliminating the distractions.

Any rune Y/N would see, she would decipher, hoping to point her commander in the correct direction.

Once they get to the end of the tunnel, a bare wall is presented to them.

Kylo ignited is Saber and was about to destroy the wall when Y/N shouted for him to stop.

The urgency in his voice made him hesitate, the hand on his arm guiding the saber close to the made him stop. He allowed her to hover his saber closer to the wall, her hand warm though his field clothes.

Then he saw it.

The heirogliphs showed faintly though the light of the Kyber crystal, the regular lights not doing anthing.

"Lights off. Now." The 4 storm troopers accompanying them complied, turning the hallway dark except for the glowing red saber.

The wall completely illuminated with glyphs, making Y/N gasp.

"What is it?" Kylo asked, his mask trained on her astonished face

"You found it. What your looking for is on the other side. I just need to find a way in." Her voice is low, focused. Kylo saw that she was in her environment, adrenaline rushing through her veins allowed for a quicker deciphering.

Her hands voided the saber in weird movement along the wall, allowing for her to read.

Kylo noticed everything about her, the way she bit her cheek when her breathing picked up, her eyes flickering to him fir a moment before continuing to read. Her grip on his forearm tightens as she holds her breath, hovering over the last hieroglyph.

Y/N let's go of Kylo's arm and takes a step back, creating professional spacing.

"In short, you actually have to stable the wall. In long, you can only stab it in one spot. Only you can see the spot using the force. Dont ask me how, it never said." Y/N steps back with the troopers, allowing Kylo to do his thing.

He nods his head to her, she nods back, her face blank.

Kylo turns to the wall, closes his eye, feeling for the weak spot. He grows frustrated when he cant find it, letting out a huff.

"What do you feel." You.

"There is no weakness in the wall." His voice is strained though the modulator, trying to not last out.

"Maybe the wall is all weak and you need to look for the strong spot. Breaking that should weaken the hold on the weak spots, allowing the wall to crumble." She sounded so close to him, like it was only them.

Kylo focuses on the calm in her tone of voice, allowing him to concentrate on his objective.

Not even seconds later, he finds it, the spot is in the direct center of the wall.

"The keystone." He whispers, the modulator garbling the word.

He reposition his last connection to his grandfather, the helmet being completely destroyed by Supreme Leader Snoke. Kylo drives the blade through the spot, the wall immediately shaking.

Two strong hands grab his robes and pull him out of the stones impact, the small group watching the wall shift and change.

Larger pieces of rock fall as the smaller ones swirl in a circle, assembling themselves in the doorway behind the wall.

The door opens to reveal a corpse cradling a book to its chest.

Kylo immediately rips the book from the corpse's grasp before Y/N could stop him.

"Is that what you need?" Chills run down her spine as the entire crypt turns silent.

Too silent.

"Yes." He turns back to her, handing the text to Y/N, allowing her to out it in her book bag.

Before the mission he pulled her aside. Her job is to translate and to protect the text. His job was to get them in and get them out. They agreed.

Y/N facial expression and the sense of dread Kylo could read on her told him to move quickly.

"Stay behind me. Make sure she doesnt get hit." He points to the respectful groups before charging off into the darkness.

Y/N asks the trooper to turn their lights back on to help them see their way back.

Not everyone has the force to guide them.

Everyone did their jobs, quickly and quietly. The six moved through the crypt, moving up from the deep dungeons.

Once they get to the first open area, they were ambushed. Reanimated skeletons, strange tan creatures, and those damn rats attacked the group.

Y/N drew her sword, charging it. She stayed relatively near the middle of the room, not seating out a fight.

Kylo Ren sliced and diced through the enemies, keeping an eyes on Y/N. The troopers shot down the rats with surprising accuracy. Kylo took care of everything else.

Until two yellow monster slipped from the main group and attacked Y/N from infront and behind.

Kylo quickly eliminated the rest of his threats and watched in awe as Y/N gracefully finished the fight.

Her kicked the one infront of her, throwing him on his back. She quickly pivots, her sword cutting up through the stomach, and down across its head. Before the second monster can register what happened, Y/N turned again, finishing off the first monster with a quick decapitation.

She quickly disarms her sword, reattached it to her back, and looked at the other 5 people in her group.

"They said that more are on their way. We need to leave. Now." It took Kylo a sweet second to put his ass in gear and steer his group out of the crypt, not meeting any more strange creatures.

Once in hyperspace, Y/N stands behind Kylo's chair, watching the stars.

"How did you hear them communicate? None of them spoke." Kylo was watching her through the reflection of the window, further respect for his colleague bloomed in his mind.

"The rats were actually in charge. The yellow creatures, called voulnders, were allowed to live in and around the crypts. Their exchange was that the Voulnders were to reanimate the corpses with their magic when their temple was under attack."

"They said all of that?" Kylo turned in his seat, Y/N already standing far enough away to not get hit.

"The wall that you hit showed the pact that those two creatures made. It also showed how to get in. Only a might warrior could." There was a pause before Y/N spoke again.

"Don't let that go to your head." She then walked out of the room.

Over the years, the two grew closer.

Sparring, talking, planning missions. Everything platonic.

When Kylo cant sleep because of the nightmares caused by Snoke, he'd go into Y/N's room, falling alseep on her couch, in view of her bed.

"If you like my couch so much, why not move it to your room." Y/N asks one morning, handing Kylo his caf.

"It's not the couch that puts me to sleep." His voice is low, eyes dropping to the ground.

Y/N hand cups his chin, lifting his eyes to meet hers. Her gentile smile puts him at ease.

Y/N remembers the first time she saw him without the mask.

It was a few nights in after relentless nightmares, the first time Kylo slept in Y/N's room.

He was half asleep, running on caf and a few minutes of sleep. Everyone on the ship could sense his worsening mood, assuming that it was from the last failed mission.

It was a repercussion of it, Snoke filling everyone involved in the mission with thoughts of dread.

Y/N hid it suprising well when on the command deck, doing her job.

But now, in the middle of the night, she knew she looked like shit.

When her commander knocked on her door, she rolled out of bed, her hair in a loose braid, her body clad in a pair of over sized black training shots and shirt.

Her commander was dressed similarly. She recognized the drained look in his eyes from her own.

She stepped aside to let him in her space, her eyes never leaving the constipation of beauty marks on his face.

Y/N shut off her night, resetting their automatic switch.

She grabs Kylo's bare arm and leads him to bed. She lies on her back, and she pulls him into her, his head resting on her stomach.

Kylo didnt right against her, his mind not raising any alarms.

Once her hands started to play with his hair, Kylo was out.

Y/N stayed awake a little longer, enjoying how soft and smooth her Commander's hair is. She falls asleep, her hands still tangled in his hair.

She woke up first at the rising of the dim lights, she took her time to wake up, enjoying the presence of another body against hers.

Kylo's breathing was still even as she replaced her body with her pillow.

Y/N went to her closet, pulled out her repaired bounty hunting armour, the silver beskar reminding her of painful memories of her old partner.

She changes quickly, keeping an eye on the commander in her bed.

"where are you going?" His voice asks, not removing his head from your pillow.

"To fix our problem."

"Snoke doesnt respond well to asking nicely."

"Oh, that's not why in going to Snoke. Go back to sleep if you can Commander. You need it." He seemed to get only a few hours of sleep last night.

Y/N straps the rest of her weapons to her body, her rifle sliding easily over her back. Her viroblade in the holster at her waist.

She tucks the bucket in her arm, looking at Kylo one last time before going on her first line mission during her First Order Career.

It wont be her last.

It only took her two days, the bounty hunter returning to Snoke with a head and the correct location of the cargo.

"How do you know its correct?" Snoke leans in his chair, observing the cleanly severed head at his feet.

"This tracker." Her voice is modulated, she throws the red chip to her Supreme Leader.

Snoke catches it, hums in approval.

"You have a new job. We have a suitable replacement for you."

Commander Y/N Y/L/N, leader of the bounties hunters and scouts of the first order.

The nightmares stopped

Missions became more successful

Kylo still couldn't sleep without being in the presence of Y/N. Her calm attitude put him at ease enough to fall asleep.

[true-blue-megamind]

Daylight and Dark Ch. 1 - First Night

Photo by Joe Waranont

Read the full fan fiction HERE

This is an excerpt.  Due to Tumblr’s regulations, the second half of this chapter is only available on AO3.  The full fiction is not child-friendly!

Summary: Months after Titan's defeat, Roxanne faces concerns as she and Megamind's relationship grows more serious. Soon, however, she learns that may be the least of her problems. Metro City's new hero has a dangerous past, and loving him comes with as many perils as benefits. Mystery, drama, romance, and humor.  RATING: Explicit.  WARNINGS: violence, sex, language, references to prior domestic abuse, and rock n’ roll!

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f I should labor through daylight and dark, Consecrate, valorous, serious, true, Then on the world I may blazon my mark; And what if I don't, and what if I do?

                —Dorothy Parker

Roxanne Ritchi stared at her reflection without really seeing it.

Tonight. It was going to be tonight. She had waited, fretted, but no more. It had to be tonight.

Perhaps this moment had been too long in coming. It wasn't as if she didn't want it to—she adored him, she was undeniably attracted to him, and she was completely unbothered by their physical differences—but there was a part of Roxanne that had been affected more than she liked to admit by past disappointments.  She described her approach to relationships as "circumspect" and "judicious," but, if she was honest, she was, in reality, a coward.  Not that she was afraid of Megamind, of course; that would have been ridiculous.  Her concerns were harder to define than that.  What she feared was, she supposed, perfection, or rather the relentless feeling that anything this perfect had to be inevitably doomed.  After all, past experiences with men had all ended in disaster—she was either too aloof or too intense, depending on which of her exes you asked— and it seemed that the better relationships were in the beginning, the more spectacularly they failed in the end.  In fact, the reporter had already resigned herself to a single life, throwing herself completely into her work, when along came a certain blue alien.  Now, deep down, she was afraid that something would go wrong—especially when their relationship was already complicated by its very nature.  Perhaps that was the real heart of the issue: her love affair with Megamind was complex in so many ways, even more than the expected difficulties entailed in dating any Defender, and some of those issues revolved around things neither she nor her blue boyfriend could control.

Even so, she had made her decision, and she wasn't going to back down.  It was going to be tonight.

A knock snapped Roxanne's eyes back into focus, and she frowned at her incomplete makeup. Hurriedly finishing her mascara and applying some russet red, long-wear lipstick, she swept all her cosmetics back into a drawer.  An extra spray of perfume for good measure, and that would have to do. Fanning her mouth with her hands to dry the lip color, Roxanne walked briskly through the living room to her apartment's front door.

Megamind was standing in the hall, eyes fixed pensively off into the distance. It was a look she was growing to expect whenever she left him waiting too long; the double-edge sword of his massive intellect was that he was always thinking, always wondering, his thoughts never still. The sound of the door brought him back to attention, and he smiled. She threw her arms around him— their usual greeting— and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

Nerves sang and sparked. She hated that she was as fidgety as a maiden bride.  While she believed that, like alcohol and tobacco, sex should be "enjoyed responsibly," Roxanne had slept with a respectable number of men.  It had been years since the idea of it had made her jittery.  Until now.  Maybe it was her long hiatus from the dating pool—very few men were willing to move on a woman supposedly dating someone with lasers in his eyes—or maybe it was Megamind's charm coupled with the intensity of her feelings for him, but, whatever the reason, something about the city's hero made her feel like she was in high school once more: heart fluttering and stomach slightly queasy.  If only that were the sole reason for the butterflies beneath her skin.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," she smiled again, looking into eyes so green they glowed.

His expression was tender as he turned his gaze down to her's— something that, at only two inches taller than Roxanne, he only managed to do when they were this close. And when she was wearing flats. For a moment Roxanne silently praised the work-sore feet that had prompted her to opt for more comfortable shoes this evening.

Clearly, the blue alien had been on duty today as he was dressed in his familiar dark leathers. For a short time, Megamind had tried wearing white— had even gone as far as to build a new super suit that imitated Metro Man's powers— but thankfully Minion had convinced him that it was better to be his own brand of hero. And he'd been right. Not only did Roxanne prefer her boyfriend's bad boy look for reasons of her own, but even the most hardened criminals had grown to fear the black-clad Defender of Metro City while citizens had grown to accept Megamind for himself.

Will that continue after tonight, if people find out? Or will the same public that praises him today turn against him tomorrow?

"Don't worry, it's alright," the blue hero assured her. Roxanne startled for a moment— how did he know what she was thinking?— before she realized that he'd been referring to the wait. "I was just considering how I might turn one of your windows into a transparent glass monitor," he continued. "It would require some creative engineering, but I think it could be done. Then I could build you a smaller version of the supercomputer in my lair, and ta-da! It could function as a window until activated, and then you could use it to communicate with me in my workroom, or research, or to—" seeing her quizzically amused expression, he caught himself in mid-thought and cleared his throat. He and Roxanne had agreed to just have a normal, relaxing date, and it seemed to occur to him that this might not fit the description. "Erm, these are for you," he finished sheepishly, proffering a bouquet of yellow daisies, orange and gold cosmos, gardenias, and red and white roses.

He always brought her daisies, ever since she had mentioned once in passing how much she loved the ones in Hill Top Park.  Bouquets turned up at her office every Thursday like clockwork.  She didn't even mind that some of the interns got all girlish and giggly about it.

Roxanne accepted the flowers, inhaling the blossoms' sweet scents before saying: "They're beautiful. Come on inside." She pulled him in, leaning up to give him another kiss as she reached around him to shut the door. "I've always wondered: what are these?" she continued, touching tiny white clustered flowers with one hand. "It seems like they're in every single bouquet I've ever seen, but no one ever mentions what they're called."

"Ah, yes, that's Gypsophila, Baby's Breath. And you're right, it is a common addition to bouquets... I think for artistic reasons. What's wrong? Do you dislike it?"

"What? No, not at all..."

"What is it? You look like you just smelled something horrible. I can take the Gypsophila out."

"Oh, no, that's not necessary. It's nothing... just..."

Baby's breath.  Oh God.   Roxanne tried to ignore the skittering tightness in her heart.

What if she got pregnant?  What would the world say to the first half-human child?  She was a responsible adult, of course, and she wasn't rushing into this unprepared, but even so... Sex was designed to make babies, and no matter how careful a girl was, sometimes it did just that.  Her cousin Theresa, who had conceived her third child while she and her husband were using both pills and condoms, was living proof.

Realizing she'd been quiet too long, Roxanne thought quickly. "It's just that that's an odd name for a flower, isn't it? I mean, it doesn't really look like breath."

"No stranger than Forget-Me-Nots or Grandmother's Lace." He shrugged. "Flower names are just weird."

"At least Grandmother's Lace sort of looks like lace," she laughed, more at herself than anything else. "But you're probably right. Either way, these really are gorgeous," Roxanne smiled again. "I love them."

"I'm glad," he grinned. "I've been studying Floriography."

"Flori-what?"

"The language of flowers."

"I didn't know flowers talked," she joked.

"Very funny. You've read enough classic literature to know what I mean."

"I do, and you're very sweet," she answered, retrieving a vase from the small china hutch in her living room, and leading him into the kitchen. "Let's see… Roses are for love, right?"

"Love and affection, depending on the color."

"And these colors are?" She asked, setting the vase on the counter and turning to face him.

His cheeks flushed a little, the expression of shy pleasure at odds with his tough-guy persona. It was unreasonably adorable. "The red ones mean: 'my love for you is passionate,'" he explained. "And the white ones mean: 'my love for you is pure.'"

She felt her heart do a happy, ridiculous little flip, and turned her head to give him a smile that felt embarrassingly shy and girlish. "Oh."

This was always his way: thoughtful, charming, romantic, foolishly sentimental… Yet he never begrudged her her independence; never complained when she had to break a date for a hot news story or an overdue deadline. He just told her to stop by the Lair on the way home if she had the time, and sent over a packed dinner via brainbot with a note saying something like: "You won't forget to eat, will you? Love, MM." And then there was the way he fully embraced her for who she was, skipping typical dates in favor of afternoons in bookshops, long days in the park, weekends exploring quirky little-known museums, and dinners at hidden gems serving unexpectedly excellent cuisine or wonderfully authentic international dishes.

"Are you sure you're not telepathic?" she asked, only half in jest.  It was something she'd questioned him about before.

"I think I would notice if I were."  His expression turned teasing.  "Perhaps, Miss Ritchi, you are simply too... Predictable."

"Jerk," she laughed, trimming the edges of the flowers under the running tap.  

"Villain," he corrected, gesturing to himself.  "One of the good guys, now, but still a villain," he moved close.  "And a devilishly handsome one at that."

"Hmm.  I can't argue with the last part."

"That's because you have excellent taste."  God, why did his smirk have to look like dark secrets and wanton promises?  "Really, though, Sweetheart," he added, his smile gentling.  "I know you because I love you."

"I love you, too."

She truly did, and the fact that someone as brilliant and charming as Megamind loved her back sometimes still filled her with soft surprise.  More than that, however, he respected her.  He trusted her.  Following their defeat of Titan, Megamind had not only granted her nearly unfettered access to his secret Lair— something unheard of in the past— but, keenly aware that the sudden cessation of her regular kidnappings could affect her career, he had also allowed her to join him in some of his more noteworthy heroic battles.  While her blue beau insisted that she steer clear of the dangerous Doom Syndicate, together they had taken down two minor would-be villains: the first an ex-model with a scarred face and a terrible idea of revenge, the second a balding science teacher with an insane plan to make the pigeons in the park emulate Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds.  That last had been a monumental failure even by Megamind's standards.  The chemical compound the man had fed the birds had only succeeded in giving them explosive diarrhea.  It had been an incredible mess.

Thank God for brainbot cleanup crews!

"And just what are you snickering about?" Megamind asked her, cocking one eyebrow, green eyes shining with curious mirth.  "It's mean not to share," he added, adopting his best Hero-Giving-a-Life-Lesson voice.  Roxanne laughed harder.  That particular part of his new persona was definitely a work in progress.

"I was just thinking about the bird guy," she answered, turning to fill the vase from the faucet.

"The bird—Oh!  Ravenous!" he gave the word an odd inflection, putting an emphasis on "raven," just as the aspiring villain had.

"That was it!" she chortled.  "God, even his name sucked!  He got so mad at you for pronouncing it wrong, too."

"Excuse me," he grinned, leaning back against the counter to catch her eye. "I was pronouncing the word ravenous correctly.  It's not my fault he had an unnatural obsession with avians.  And, as I recall, it was you, my Dear Miss Ritchi, who insisted on pronouncing his name wrong—or rather right— on air, until you had the whole city doing it.

"Me?" she couldn't hide her smile.  "Look at this innocent face.  Would I do something like that?"

His laugh rang through the kitchen.  "Oh, yes, you would.  I always said you would have made an excellent Evil Queen!"

It was absurd how much her heart sped up when he said that.  "When did you decide to learn floriography?  I mean, it can't have been just for this," she asked, arranging the bouquet with more care and concentration than was really necessary.  "I can't imagine you taking an interest in it before."

"Yes and no.  I did learn for you, Roxanne, but," he seemed to swallow his sheepishness, "I've studied the language of flowers for years.  I... I used to imagine what I would say to you if I only had the courage to leave a tower of blossoms on your table after a kidnapping.  I never did.  I didn't want you to feel... uncomfortable, frightened, but...  Roxanne, I revolve around you.  Your smiles have been my drug for a long time."

She swallowed turned her head back quickly.  Her face felt like fire and she knew she was losing the battle for suave composure.  Damn it, I'm supposed to be the one seducing him!  

How could she not love him when he said things like that—said them and actually meant them?  Surely that was too much for any reasonable world to expect? And if others might not like it, well, so what?  She'd endured criticism of everything from her political stances to her hair, and God knew Megamind was no stranger to animosity.  Whatever storms this might brew, they would weather them together.

"The Gypsophila represent purity, too," Megamind informed her.  She could hear him grinning at her blush. "The cosmos are joy and harmony," he added, moving closer again. "Yellow daisies are for both true love, because each flower is actually two joined as one, and for new beginnings. Gardenias, now those are interesting. They represent feminine beauty, and can refer to a secret love, but," Roxanne nearly dropped the vase as he leaned against her back to breathe the last words against her ear. "Gardenias also mean: 'I will always protect you.'"

"Megamind," she breathed, gently setting the vase on the counter and turning to bury herself in him. He smelled like hot metal— he'd probably been welding something earlier— and expensive cologne, but beneath that was his familiar musk of leather, spices, and something warm and woody.

He began kissing along her ear and down toward her shoulder— something he had become extremely good at in the last few months. His goatee, warm breath, and gentle teeth were sweet torture against her sensitive skin. Clever fingers tickled up the nape of her neck and slid around to gently tangle in her short hair, making her shiver. She sighed his name again, tasting the syllables like a prayer.

Megamind. This was Megamind: fiercely loyal and endlessly affectionate. Of course, he would always protect her. Let the whole entire city, or even the entire planet, turn against them, and he would remain steadfastly at her side, determined and immovable as stone.  Certainly, they had had their share of arguments—what couple didn't?—but, in the end, he always had her back. He'd probably even do his best to shield her from the worst of people's biases.  Because that was the sort of man he was.

To hell with what people might think. I want this, now and always.

Roxanne leaned back just enough to kiss him with thorough passion, giving his mouth the full and undivided attention it deserved.  He matched her passion, tongue gliding past her lips to tempt and tumble against her own.  Almost of their own accord, her arms wrapped about his slender neck, pulling him closer, urging him on...

And her stupid phone timer went off, shattering the moment with an annoyingly jaunty little tune.

"I… um… I have dinner in the oven," she stumbled over her own words. "It should be... ready… almost... almost ready."

Mercifully, he took his cue. "Oh-ho!" he laughed, giving her one last peck on the lips. "Home cooking twice in one week! Just what are you up to, Miss Ritchi?"

Although Roxanne had learned to cook at her grandmother's elbow, she'd rarely felt it worth her time when she was single, preferring quick frozen meals she could leave in the crockpot or even pop into the microwave.  Since she had started dating Megamind, however, she'd dusted off the old cookbooks she'd inherited and started making meals from scratch once a week.  True, the hero had Minion to cook for him— and her skills were nowhere near the henchman's gourmet standards— but this was one of the ways she could show her affection, and it always seemed to please the blue alien.  Things like that had become important to the reporter as Megamind took up residence in her heart, which is why she found herself constantly making little gestures like buying him a blue teddy bear in a black leather jacket, or texting him funny pictures and thoughts she knew would make him smile.  So she had gotten into the habit of planning one special dinner each week.  But, up until now, it had always been only one.

I'd hoped he wouldn't notice.  I should have known better.  

She gave him her best calm reporter stare. It was ruined by the fact that her face still felt like it was glowing red. "Why should I be up to anything?" she asked coyly.

He lifted an eyebrow, his grin playful.  "Your wiles won't work on me."

That earned him a sultry look. "I was under the impression they were working pretty well just now."

"Wicked girl," he teased. Following Roxanne across the small kitchen, Megamind opened the oven and sniffed eagerly. "Mmmm... Lasag-na. My favorite. Now I'm definitely suspicious."

"It's lasagna, silly," Roxanne corrected fondly, moving past him to set her bouquet on the dinette table. "And can't a girl make her favorite hero a nice dinner without him getting into conspiracy theories?"

He only grinned at her again. "La. Sag. Na." That was one of the things Roxanne loved most about Megamind. He never let himself be embarrassed. Most people would have been mortified by constant mispronunciations, but he brushed them off with a smile.

Giggling, Roxanne swatted him playfully out of her way and found two oven mitts in a drawer before retrieving the dish from the oven. "Maybe I'll make you learn to say it correctly before I let you have any."

"Oh, you could never be so cruel!" he answered over his shoulder as he selected plates from the cabinet. "I should have brought a bottle of wine."

"I still have two from the last time you came over," laughed Roxanne. "I think we'll be okay."

"You make me sound like an alcoholic," Megamind complained, but he couldn't quite tame his playful expression as he began setting the table. "I simply couldn't decide what would compliment the dish best. Besides, I wanted to make sure I had something to eat my breakfast cereal with in the morning."

"Ewww!"

Roxanne loved Megamind's laugh. He was the city's hero now, but his rolling chortle still had a dark ring in it, and something about it sent delicious shivers down her spine.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding" he assured her.

"I know, but... Ewww!"

He laughed again and motioned her to her chair. "Alright, okay," he said, helping her into her seat. "Whenever I stay here overnight, I solemnly promise that I will not eat cereal and wine for breakfast."

Roxanne tried to giggle but found her throat suddenly tight. Funny how that comment brought the conversation to the matter at hand.

Come on, Roxanne.  For God's sake.  Just ask.

She looked up at him, his face still glowing with humor, and gently placed her hand on his.

"Megamind, I was thinking, what about tonight?"

He looked confused. "What about tonight?"

"For that. For you to stay over. I mean..." she sighed.  Ugh... Why is this so hard?   "Will you stay here with me tonight?"

"Of course!" his easy tone implied he still didn't get her meaning. It wasn't as if he had never stayed over, after all... It was simply that they had never done any more than cuddle.

"No, I mean, will you—" Oh, God, I'm going to have to be specific, aren't I?— "Will you sleep with me? Will you spend the night here as my lover?"

That finally did it. His eyes widened in surprise, and then he glanced quickly down, trying unsuccessfully to hide his little up-to-no-good grin.

When he lifted his gaze again, however, his expression turned serious. "Are you... sure? I want you to be sure, Roxanne. Absolutely certain." He lifted his free hand to push a strand of her short hair tenderly back from her face. "No regrets between us. Ever."

She smiled. Doesn't he understand that that's what makes me so certain?  He's always ready to put me first.

Yes, he was an alien. Yes, she was going to be the first known human to sleep with someone from a different planet. Yes, in a society where too many still objected to relationships between different races and same genders, sharing her bed with an extraterrestrial was sure to stir up trouble. But it didn't matter. She had given him her whole heart, and after five months of dating— more if you counted the dates with "Bernard"— she wanted to give him her body, too. The time had come. Their relationship couldn't continue in this state of limbo. Either she stopped holding back or she broke things off, and she couldn't bear the thought of the latter. No matter what happened, no matter who judged them, no matter how many snide comments she had to hear about Stockholm Syndrome and tentacle porn, she would not—could not—let him go.

Fully meeting his look, Roxanne let her emotions— love, desire, trust, longing— fill her blue eyes. Her hands caressed the sides of his face as she pulled him down for another slow-burn kiss.

"I'm sure," she breathed when they parted for air. "I'm very, very sure."

He smiled and leaned back in, kissing her again, letting years of contained passion spill over her.  The chair skittered back as she rose, tangling her arms around him.  Clutching her, Megamind ran eager hands over her back, cupped her hips, and pressed her close to feel the proof of his desire. His kisses were hot, desperate, as if he were drowning and her lips held his only salvation.

Panting and flushed, the hero was the first to pull back. "I'm sorry," he said, motioning to the cooling meal on the table. "I don't mean to let all your hard work go to waste, but—"

"I have a microwave. We can heat it up."

He grinned. "Well, in that case..." he purred. Scooping her up in his deceptively thin arms, Metro City's blue hero carried Roxanne to the bedroom.

Tonight. It was going to be tonight.

Click Here to Keep Reading

[kehideni]

Little fanfic because i can now.

Things to know: the commander here is Beasteye Denalien, an Ash Legion ranger. Working with canon backgrounds, with a sparckle of artistic freedom.

You can have shippy glasses on and also not, you decide. I personally have them on and if you ask i can explain why, eventhough i personally would prefer the commander to be asexual. (Which he still can be, but let's not go into that.)

Onto the fic:

"It was tough to find you Commander, Aurene is worried about you, you know."

The Commander was sitting on a rock that would pass as a chair for him. He was larger than the average charr, but still smaller than a well-grown adult norn. His back was to Caithe, one of the first born sylvari that promised herself to Aurene's cause, however the bonds they shared was clearly deeper than just aligning interests.

"Did you come in her name then? To check on me?" The Commander had decided to hide in Sun's Refuge, not answering the communicator if it was not an emergency. Once Kralkatorrik was gone and Aurene branded over her grandfather's very own, the underground safe-place was no longer needed. Those who could return to their lives did, those that lost everything have started over or they too joined Aurene, as part of the Crystal Bloom.

"Yes and no. Through our link with Aurene i sensed your trouble as well. I also wanted to make sure you are ok." As she told him her reasons she walked to the charr to sit next to him on the rock. That's when she noticed that her dear friend was holding an arrow. It was different looking that the rest he kept on his back in his quiver.

From the corner of his eyes he saw the questioning look on Caithe.

"It's the last arrow Eir crafted." He slowly and carefully spun it in his clawed fingers. "When we defeated Zhaitan and had that celebration in Fort Trinity she pulled me away."

-------------

"What is it?" Back then even his voice seemed less deep. The challenges of Tyria not yet taking their toll on the Ash Legion centurion. Hehh, he scoffed on the memory; back then that title still meant something to him.

Eir smiled, her wolf Garm wagged his tail excitedly next to her, as if he knew what his master was going to do.

"We just killed the Elder Dragon Zhaitan and you already think there must be something wrong if someone wants to talk to you?" She jabbed.

That caught the dark charr off guard, if the charr weren't covered in fur one would be able to see if they were blushing. Well, now a charr was blushing.

"No, nothing is wrong. I just noticed that your arrows are unique. I was wondering if you made them?" The smile never left her face, she looked like she just have been liberated from prison. Denalien didn't care to think why, but was happy for his friend all the same.

"OOOOHhhhh! Yeah, i make them. Specifically to pierce the enemy and to also hit hard."

"That's impressive! Look, let me show you MY arrows. I craft them myself too." She proudly reached back to her own quiver to pull out one.

"I prefer if my arrows are fast. So i make them flat." She presented the arrow, Denalien's eyes were sparking, the awe showing obviously on his feline face.

He reached carefully, intending to hold it in his hands, but at the last second Eir gasped and pulled her arms back a little.

"Are you interested in a trade? From one ranger to another, to one friend to another. I was thinking we trade one of our arrows to the other, and only use it for a special purpose." She playfully spun the arrow between her fingers.

The Commander didn't even take a second to think about the offer. "I'm interested!" He wagged his tail almost akin to Garm.

-------------------

The beat of silence after the short story was deafening to the sylvari. She was just about to ask something when Denalien's pet- Raphael, a red drake that never left his side - shook his whole body. It broke the silence, but the atmosphere didn't change much.

"I've decided i will keep it as a memento, if i can help it, it will be the last arrow i ever let lose."

Hearing that from someone Caithe considered so strong made her stomach churn. She didn't miss the fatalistic tone in his voice.

"Why are you here?" She honestly couldn't think of anything else to say. The time when Eir died was a low point in the friendship between her and the commander. She was eternally grateful that she managed to make up with him.

"..." The Commander has always been quiet like her 'So that's what it feels like...' Caithe tried to jest herself in her mind.

"Long before i met you, even Rytlock, i had a warband." That's strange, the Commander never spoke of his own past, atleast not to Caithe. Maybe she should talk with him more, she took note of this.

"The leader of my warband was called Howl the Brazen. He was almost the exact opposite of me. He was as charr as a charr can be, loved fighting, but even more loved us. He made us give each other mementos of ourselves saying it's a way for us to always be there for the others, even if we get separated." He turned to his loyal drake, pet it's head.

"Since most of them died i was named leader, and decided to took up this little habbit of collecting mementos."

Caithe just now noticed all the items that was piled in front of him. There were several minis-most of them charr, presumably of his warband, a bag in the shape of a white, spotted charr- she distantly remembers a charr akin to the bag hanging out with her leader. A sticker in the shape of a bomb, and most noticably the repaired greatsword of her people- Caladbolg.

She understood how heavily these losses weighed on him, but she still felt like there's something else. She didn't have to wonder a lot.

"I have nothing from Braham..." ohh... in hindsight she should have known, she heard what happened from Rytlock.

"He also has nothing from me." In all honesty Caithe hoped she could help him, as large was the charr next to her, he now looked so small. To her regret she didn't know what would help him, not even how to cheer him up, so in silence they sat. Raphael taking notice of Caithe, tried his hardest to snuggle up to her lap, almost reminded her of one of the cats that one day mysteriously appeared in her home in the Groove. Of course she never had the heart to push those cute and cuddly animals away, same as now, she let the red drake up her lap.

"I don't even know if Eir had a chance to use my arrow i gave her. I hope it helped her so that atleast i could save her in that one moment."

The crystallized sylvari seemed to be deep in thought. Suddenly her eyes grew bright, shining like diamonds. She reached for her chest, covered her big crystal flower with her palm, but the Commander didn't seem to address her motion.

"I want to trade with you!" She exclaimed. For now that successfully shocked Denalien out of his sorrowful mood. She revealed her right hand, she held a crystal-petal from her chestflower. The Commander wide-eyed didn't even know what to say.

"In exchange i waaaaaantt...." she didn't know what to ask for yet, but as she remarked his pile of mementos she finally had an idea. ".... a carving of yourself!" Raphael almost asleep suddenly yelped at her. "..And obviously of Raphael as well!" She smiled as the drake laid his head down on her lap once again, proof to her that she guessed correctly what he wanted.

The Commander suddenly stood up "But... that's... didn't it hurt to take off?!"

Ever a worry, she thought with a gentle smile. "No. Now take it, once you have the carving ready i expect you to find me!" To this her friend finally smiled what seemed to be the first in a long long time.

"How do you expect me to find you? You are always the one to find me! Need i remind you i never noticed you were following me for who knows how long before you revealed yourself to me, righ here?"

Oh, Caithe remembers, she remembers finding him in Jahai Bluffs, she remembers how she saw him with a woman she later learned was called Zafira, she followed him all the way here when she learned he'd enter the Mists with a little asuran golem. She remembers how worried she was for him and how relieved, when she saw him alive, and immediatelly after his face when they learned what happened to Blish- the companion who was there for him in his need. The reason she didn't reveal herself till that moment was that she was ashamed, ashamed for not being there for her friend.

"Don't worry, i will allow you to find me." She chuckled, trying to keep the lighter mood up as long as she could.

"Give it to me." Denalien asked her gently. "I accept this trade."

Caithe felt awkward a bit, like she just have stayed her welcome. Gently she pushed Raphael off her lap, who whined a bit.

"I probably should go... don't keep us waiting for long. We all need you, come back to us when you're ready."

The charr finally stood tall, that's what he is supposed to look like to her. Tall and strong, unshakable.

"...Could you stay? I no longer wish to be alone, but i can't face everyone yet."

That was a pleasant surprise for Caithe.

"Of course!"

-----------

The airship was going down, big vines tore the fleet apart right in front of her, as if it was made out of paper. She was running out of arrows, and several sylvari just turned on them, as if they are not in enough danger as it is.

They were about to flank both Logan and Zojja, they lined up perfectly but she had only one arrow left!

It was exactly what she needed to save her friends in the chaos.

"Thank you, Commander!" She panted and let loose her last arrow, successfully saving both Logan and Zojja from an untimely death.

[dlamp-dictator]

Allen X Wants to Like Guilty Gear Part 1: Allen X Does Not Like Guilty Gear

Folks, I tried. I really tried. For the last few years I’ve tried to like Guilty Gear. I’ve honestly been playing bits of this series since around the time Accent Core was on the PS3 store. I’ve really tried. I’ve played Accent Core Plus R, Xrd, Revelator and Rev 2, and I’ve been trying my damn hardest to like this series because I can see all the cool and fun stuff in it. I can see the cool grungy-rock meets 90s anime aesthetic. I can see how insane and cool Roman Cancel combos are. I can hear all the awesome music in the soundtracks. And I see all the blood, sweat, and tears poured into this series to make it the coolest hard-rock fighting game it wants to be and I really want to like it.

But I don’t... God, it’s Samurai Shodown all over again.

I just can’t get into this series, man. Something, some things about it keep me from fully enjoying it. Mostly some petty things that just add up and tumble the pile over, but things nonetheless. 

And... I wanted to talk about that a little. 

I wanted to just let out all my love and misgivings for the Guilty Gear in hopes of finally purging all the negative from my being, or at least write it out in a constructive manner so I can lay all my transgressions bare and maybe... possibly... actually want to purchase and play Strive on launch day.

But first, as usual, a synopsis. 

The Guilty Gear series is a fighting game developed by Arc System Works, helmed and created by Daisuke Ishiwatari, who I know as the composer of the Blazblue soundtrack, but has quite the large track record that I won’t go into here. Guilty Gear as a story focuses on the lone bounty hunter Sol Badguy, a human experiment known as a Gear, half-human, half monstrous being of science and magic. The storyline of each game tends to focus on Sol finding the humanity in his would-be marks as well as confronting the still-lingering humanity in himself as he copes with both his self-loathing and loathing the for one who made him this way, a scientist simply call That Man, or Asuka as the most recent games have shown us. The storyline itself is long and complicated but as of Strive it seems the final battle between Sol and That Man is finally at hand and the battlefield will be the United States.

Gameplay-wise, Guilty Gear is a fast-paced, combo-centric series that uses chaining attacks that can cancel into special and super moves, along with the unique Roman Cancels, which slow down time and leave your opponent open for more punishment mid-combo. Think the Chain Shift in Under Night with a bit more hangtime if you want a comparison, or the Rapid Cancel of the Blazblue series with a slowdown effect and more flash. 

And with the basics out of the way let’s talk about the specifics.

The Good Things

Of course, that isn’t to say I hate this game series. There’s a lot I like and enjoy about the Guilty Gear series that I’ll go into greater detail in a later essay, but for now I’ll give a brief mention of all the things I enjoy about it.

The Music

I was introduced to Daisuke Ishiwatari’s music through Blazblue, and while I love Blazblue music to this day I’ll also admit that it sounds very... video game-y. It doesn’t sound like something that could be listened to from anything other than a game. But Guilty Gear music sounds like actual music. I don’t mean that in an insulting way toward Blazblue, but... man does Pride and Glory sound like something you’d listen to while driving your pickup truck on the highway. Damn, does Get Down to Business sound like something an actual rock concert would play. And the Xrd soundtracks sound so good man. One Dawn, Enough is Enough, Starry Sky, Lily of Steel, they all sound so damn good. And as cheesy and over-the-top as they sound I love the LA and NY Vocals of this series. Personal favorites are Keep Yourself Alive II, Fuuga, and Suck a Sage. 

The Aesthetic

If there was one thing I didn’t really like about Blazblue it was a lot of characters, even the ones I mained, had an aesthetic I just couldn’t latch onto. A weird mix of fantasy, eastern, and early-2000s action anime that just didn’t click with me save for Hibiki Kohaku. Guilty Gear is a lot more my speed with a more rugged look to their characters. Something about a lot these characters just have that good mix of grunge and 90s fashion I love. Some of my favorites being Answer, Ramlethal, and Jam.

Tension

While there’s a lot about Guilty Gear’s mechanics I find unappealing and convoluted I love how building and using meter works in this series, specific in Accent Core Plus R. Dust being a sort of EX button works really well in this game since I personally feel like Dust is kind of under-used a lot of the time save for the universal sweep.  This point probably won’t get an entire essay covering it, but I did at least want to give it a shoutout.

Setting

This point will be getting its own essay, but to keep things short and simple I like the setting of Guilty Gear, medieval-esque magitech with a dash a modern-world flavor just hits with real well with me. Like a nice mix of Under Night and Tales of Symphonia.

And that’s it for the good stuff, at least the good stuff I can make into later essays. Now let’s talk about...

The Conflicting Things

Really, my issues with Guilty Gear are similar to Samurai Shodown and Granblue Fantasy Versus, where I love those game aesthetically, but actually playing them is another matter. However, unlike those two games my issues are almost the opposite. Where Samsho and GBVS had a slower and more fundamentals approach that didn’t appeal to my cocaine-esque addiction to combo chains, special cancels and air-dashing, Guilty Gear is almost too fast for my taste, or at least a different kind of fast. This is something very hard to explain. If you've read my initial thoughts on Crystar then you have a good idea about what I mean. This is something very hard to explain to people that haven’t played the game and is likely more a technical part of Guilty Gear’s mechanics that I can explain with an real sophistication aside from saying ‘this game feels weird,’ but... I’m gonna’ try.

The Button Layout

Alright, this is something I can actually explain. I’m... not a fan of 5-button fighters. Really, anything more than 4 buttons is hard for me to grasp. This is mostly due to the fact that I use a standard dualshock controller when playing fighting games. I frankly don’t have money for an arcade stick nor the patience to figure our how to work with one, so I’m stuck with the PS4 controller. For games like Blazblue, Granblue, and even stuff like Tekken and Dead or Alive this works out fine, as even when those games have a fifth or six button they usually aren’t heavily involved in combos or can be supplemented by other means. But games like Street Fighter, Skullgirls, and Guilty Gear the fifth and sixth button are used very liberally. Granted, Dust isn’t used as often as heavy punch, but it’s still a key button used for sweeps and air combos, turning my hands into pretzels as a results. 

I don’t you dare tell me to just get use to it or get good. I’m a Carl main. I’m used multi-tasking with my hands.

...

...

...

Dammit, that came out wrong, but you know what I mean. 

Anyway, a smaller issue I have is just the way Punch, Kick, Slash, and Heavy Slash are mapped both on the controller and on the display screen. It just doesn’t mesh well with me where they’re mapped, and switching the button layout honestly makes it worse because the display proper doesn’t adjust for where I map the buttons.

Roman Cancels

Roman Cancels are just a tool I don’t think I’ll ever find a good use for, or at least something that would take me a long time to use optimally. Like I said before, they’re basically Chain Shift with more hangtime, but it feels like the Rapid Cancel in the sense that I have to move very quickly after activating or I outright lose the combo, and unlike Chain Shift and Rapid Cancel where I can just ignore the mechanic, keep the meter, and focus on small, easy combos with good defense, Roman Cancels feel somewhat needed to do decent damage in this game. Or at least the trial mode really thinks so.

From what I’ve seen of Strive’s mechanics I think Roman Cancels will be a little easier for me to conceptualize and use, but... I dunno’, I’m not feeling too confident on that. 

I do recognize that this issue is a me problem, but it’s a probably I have nonetheless.

The Look

Specifically on Xrd, something about the 2.5D makes certain movements a little hard to read and judge. This isn’t something I can really describe that well, but something about that game specifically feels weird. Like the cell-shaded, 3D contrasts a little with the feel of motion in that game. I have a similar issue with the recent Street Fighter games as well. Again, it’s nothing concrete and it’s honestly indescribable for someone of my knowledge on the subject, but... something feels awkward when I’m playing this game in a serious light.

The Fandom

This has nothing to do with the game, but tends to create cracks in me when I play this game. As a guy that got into Arc System Works games via Blazblue Calamity Trigger, seeing a lot of the Guilty Gear be demeaning and insulting toward the Blazblue Community has always rubbed me the wrong way and I have a difficult time getting into this series in a more serious way because of it. I know this is likely a vocal minority, I know this isn’t every Guilty Gear fan, but it feels like a vocal side of Guilty Gear community keeps thinking that Guilty Gear is some sort of antithesis to anime air-dashers like Blazblue, as if the grungy rock aesthetic cancels out the anime aesthetic of Blazblue. This has always annoyed me, but it tends to crop up everytime someone brings up Guilty Gear designs versus Blazblue designs and while I find the idea of discussing and comparing the two interesting it always seems to devolve into insulting Blazblue.

Though to give a short version of my opinion this: I don’t want to hear shit about Blazblue waifus when Baiken mains don’t even play Baiken. And I especially don’t want to hear shit about Blazblue’s pandering fanservice when Dizzy, Ram, and Elphelt exist.

About Strive

I think that covers the main things keeping me from liking Guilty Gear, or at least playing Guilty Gear. So I want to talk about Strive, the next game coming up. This will also be something that will be expanded on in a later essay, but for now I’ll say I’m cautiously excited about Strive coming out and I look forward to at least giving it a shot. Though to give some rapid-fire bullet points on the matter... 

Overall, I think Strive looks great, the presentations is fantastic and I love a lot of the new designs for the characters, though I hear that opinion is actually contentious in the fandom.

I heard that Strive is gonna’ have a dub again. I’m... curious, but I’ll save my opinions for a different essay. Long story short, if they get a new director or the old director puts more care into the performances I’ll be happy. I did overall like Xrd’s original dub barring a few performances.

So far everything about Strive looks cool, but it’s still Guilty Gear, so... debating on if I wanna’ get that day 1. Especially since I still only have a base PS4. I’ve no interest in getting the new hotness for at least another year and gamers are self-centered demons that mock those using lesser hardware. That isn’t a Guilty Gear thing, it’s just a gamer thing.

For those wondering, if I pick of this game I’ll probably main Chipp, Ram, and maybe Giovanna.

I have mixed feelings about the soundtrack. Save for Smell of the Game the lyrics in the themes I’ve hard are a mix of okay to... not okay. Hope they have versions without the lyrics similar to Raven in Rev 2.

And I think that’s everything. Next... probably another essay about Arknights.

[kurtty-drabbles]

Postwoman au (part 7)

Finally, write the Krampus and Kitty time travel adventure.

@dannybagpipesarecalling @muninandhugin @tieflingteeth

In all honesty, if you ask Kitty with tact-something some people in her life lack- Kitty took this job without feeling she has a saying whatsoever in the matter. Maybe, it was true, maybe Galaticus in all his wisdom and all his status as an Outer God-one above everyone and everything. No one should forget this. Kitty felt she have no saying so, yet that didn´t stop her to form opinions.

At this very precise moment, Kitty is on her knees watching-even admiring the brazes of the fireplace- each aspect, each small detail of this strange room. It has an ancient vibe, as if Kitty travel back in time, at the same time it feels modern-she saw the TV near. Looks like a new model, at least it looks like.

It certainly isn´t how one imagines Krampus´s room. Kitty let a grin grace her rounded face as she develops some silly ideas for his room. She´s ever grateful Krampus can´t read minds. Those ideas are too dumb and Kitty has no sense of fashion.

"Your hair" his voice jolts Kitty back to reality. Krampus is looking at the ponytail and taking some hair locks in his azzure hand. Feeling the texture. Her hair is fluffy.

"Oh, yeah...I love to use ponytails" slowly her hands undo the ponytail letting her hair free once again. "You know, you don´t have to do this...." she trails off fidgeting with the ribbon used to form the ponytail.

Krampus hummed in response. Playing with her hair as a counter-response to everything.

"Really, is just hair..." Kitty is grateful Krampus is only watching her back. He doesn´t need to see her redden cheeks nor how the color is spreading to the neck.

"I want to do it, plus, you´re here already and you already undo the ponytail..." there´s mirth in his voice. Kitty won´t face him. "Your fingers are dexterous...is almost erotic to watch"

Kitty now has every reason to not turn and see his handsome face.

"I didn´t mean to make you uncomfortable!" he promises kindly. Isn´t it a bit funny? Krampus is kind but he´ll take your misbehaving kid-and sometimes your wife. Yet, he´s here being kind with Kitty just because. What a strange ancient man!

"I´m just saying...if you´re born in my...time, let´s call as such, many men would want to marry a woman with such fluffy hair and dexterous abilities" Kurt is kind.

Kitty could flirt. Could ignore. Kitty, however, has no real game in regards to some social situations.

"I´m Jewish...pretty sure German people wouldn´t like marry me" no shame on her part. Kitty wears her roots proudly. If Kurt has a problem...

"I know...in my time,  Jewish women are just women. Romani women are just women and black women are just women." his tone looks sad. "Until it was a point to distinguish and separate them..." she can feel him shaking his head. "In my time, when a woman presents to...the Gods, to the old temples, we judge her by her skills not her origins...you would get a good match" now his tail has a brush.

Her face turns slightly to the side-still feeling her checks burning- to see golden eyes staring at her amused. Mischievous. The woman pouts and turns back to her view of the fireplace.

"You´re a mysterious figure, you know that" Kitty begins as Kurt chuckles to prove his feelings. "That´s why I did my own research on you!" Kitty confesses to focus on the fire. It´s almost as if the fire is dancing.

Kurt humms again. Starting brushing her hair- Kitty will deny with all her heart if anyone claims she´s purring-slowly and Kitty closes her eyes, incline her head slightly and again if anyone says purring ...they´ll be so wrong.

"Oh, your research about me? I´m flatter, what my little postwoman found" Kurt is brushing her hair without any hush. Without pointing out certain sounds Kitty is making. Not purring, sure!

"Yes, I found out about you and Amanda"

"Uhm, not a secret, Katzchen"

"She was your secretary!" she starts not minding Kurt not an impressive response. "She was the daughter of Margalia Szardos. The lower totem of the magical community and thought if she had you like her...." now she stumbles with words.

"A weapon?" Kurt suggests amused.

"Yes, that. She thought if you were on her team she could conquer the witch community and be the Queen of the Witches" Kitty smiles as Kurt comments she´s correct.

"Margalia was killed by the council...and Amanda had a son with.....her brother" now she stops smiling. Incest sort breaks anyone´s victory.

"Oh, yes. She slept with Stefan. She named her own daughter as Amanda. She has killed as well Stefan" his tone is somber. Kitty wonders if she treads in dangerous waters.

"And the council spare her, the baby, you spare the baby...because you don´t believe in punishing a baby for the parents´ crimes" Kitty amends.

"Yes, Amanda gave her name to the baby but not the last name..."

"A witch without a surname is an outcast" Kitty pipes in. "Yana explain this to me...she´s the Demon Queen of my heart" she states and Kurt stops brushing her fluffy hair.

"Are you two...close?"

"Platonically speaking, of course. We´re platonic soulmates"

"Oh, it makes sense! I meet Yana.....she´s intense" Kurt offers this as an explanation. "She once tried to be the Zombie Queen for lols...she talks about you and her friends"

Kitty wanted to ask if he tried to hit on Yana. Yana doesn´t swing to this team at all.

"I didn´t hit on Yana. Not only Yana doesn´t swing to this team...she is 100% not a good match for me in any way...not a fan of zombies and she would claim herself as a Zombie Queen"

"Oh, that´s Yana. She was a Vampire Queen until she got bored"

"...Your platonic soulmate is all yours!"

Now his fingers are working on her fluffy hair. Time to braid it. "Your hair is lovely than Yana"

"What?"

"Shush, I´m braiding your hair!"

After a few moments. A few pushes on her hair-it may be intentional or not- the hair is done. Kurt takes the mirror to show the hairstyle.

(how it looks)

"What you think?"

"Krampus steals your kids, your wife, also do your hair. What you think?"

"Good, no one will believe the last part anyway" ________________________________________________________________________________________

Meggan Puceanu is a succubus. The world never will let her forget her such fact. NEVER. Succubus are fun for the night, no one wants to hang out with them in the day.

Meggan is all too used by now.

Brian, however, seems to not get the memo in regards to the succubus´s interaction as he´s still talking to her. Still here.

"I found some leads about the Black Queen. Selene is not being supported by Shaw, but, she has money enough for her plans...and Meggan, are you ok?"

"You still are talking with me...are you sure of that?"

And Brian was never the epitome of emotional sensibility or anything like that, in fact, not even his sister was-she tried to sleep with a married man once. Yet, Brian is not completely dumb to ignore the elephant in the room.

"When I ask you to be in Excalibur...you know the invitation is serious, right? I´ll not kick you out tomorrow"

"That´s ...new, really new to me"

"Working with someone else is also new to me...we can learn together"

Meggan wants to probe more of these feelings. Meggan has questions. Gloriana, however, is too professional to let work slide in favor of feelings.

"Do you think Krampus made the right call? Sending someone to the past is a bit dangerous..."

"Who is Krampus?"

"Kurt Wagner"

"That...doesn´t answer my question"

__________________________________________________________________________________________

Krampus is restless. Never a good sign as Santa can confirm. The two figures exchange one final look. Full of answers only for them and only them. Kitty must be oblivious if she wasn´t Kitty that´s it.

"So, my mission is to travel in time. Collect some magic rocks and return...all while not gathering the attention of the ancient figures of there. Smaller gods, right?" Kitty summarizes the situation as brief as she can.

Kurt´s face looks twisted in worry. His tail touches her hands. "You really don´t have to do this..." he looks at her braid hair and typical dress linked to the paganism era. "You can keep the dress and hair...I´ll not mind, but, please...there´s nothing forcing you to do this..."

"Is my work, Kurt, of course, I´ve to do it" Kitty answers resolutely. Even winking at him.

Kurt lowers his head a bit and rests his forehead on hers. Oh, how the height differences are a bit sometimes. Kurt did have to lower himself to do this small action. He could have lifted her up...but it would be too intimate.

"Kurt?" Kitty can´t hide her emotions very well. She tried.

"Stay away from Chernabog, promise me"

"I promise you"

With such small words, Kurt leaves Kitty and conjures the portal. Santa takes from there. "Once you collect the magical rocks...just use your key and you´ll be back in no time"

Kitty nods. Is not a hard task...

She jumps through the portal and Kurt watches as the portal closes.

"You could have tell her...you´re Chernabog"

"I...don´t know how she would reach this"

[scaredandbored]

androids cannot act without premeditation

this ones for @datalaur , i hope it’s ok! it will be ooc, as i’ve only done one story with characters that aren’t mine before, but i did try! doing it as a data-centric one was a bit of a mistake, he’s v e r y difficult for an emotional wreck like me to get right lmao. i’m so sorry it took so long, i really am. not only did i have difficulty with the characterisation of data, i also decided to try and make it a small collection of shorts that tied up nicely at the end, which took me waaaay longer than i anticipated, i’m sorry! i hope it’s ok (it’s also a little rushed at the end because i was working on it for ages but nothing seemed right and i just wanted to get it done aaaaaa i’m sorry)

word count : 2’292 (and a whole lot of errors because the final draft was done on my ipad at two thirty am i’m so sorry lmao)

i) when he “short-circuited” (not literally)

It was a routine check on a peaceful outpost, there was no need for Data to accompany the away team while he still had responsibilities aboard the ship, and when he had voiced this opinion to Riker, the first officer had agreed. Geordie had rested his hand briefly on Data’s shoulder as he gave his hurried goodbye before dashing off to transporter room 3 with Riker, Barclay, and an engineer from the outpost that had beamed aboard to explain the situation on the ground. Data was surprised when the loss of the heat from Geordie’s hand sent a slight chill through his system, the same way it did when the environmental controls in his quarters malfunctioned.

Shaking his head lightly, he ran a quick diagnostic on himself while he made his way to Engineering, a diagnostic that came up clear, which was puzzling. Data made a note to discuss the irregularity in his thermal controls upon Geordie’s return to the Enterprise. While monitoring the repairs being made to the dilithium chamber from the last skirmish the ship had engaged in, Data began to plan an evening meal with Geordie. Knowing his friend would likely be tired from an extended shift away with no access to his painkilling hyposprays, a low light intensity level was absolutely necessary, especially since Geordie seemed reluctant to remove his VISOR in the presence of his friends, including Data, for reasons the android could not fathom. Of course, Data would have to retrieve Geordie’s hyposprays from his quarters if the meal as to commence immediately after Geordie’s work planetside was complete, and if he would not take off the VISOR, perhaps some of his preferred scented oils would alleviate some of the tension headaches he preferred not to discuss, again, even with Data, once more for reasons unbeknown to Data.

The repairs were running smoothly enough for Data to feel secure in leaving them to run unattended while he carried out some basic structural repairs in the Jefferies Tubes, when the captain’s voice came barking out of his comm badge.

“Commander Data to the bridge, immediately.”

“Acknowledged, captain. I am on my way.”

As he made his way briskly down the corridor to the turbolift that would take him to the bridge, Data ran a list of the most statistically likely scenarios that would require his presence on the bridge. It would, of course, depend hugely on wether the captain required him at the navigation console or the science console, but based on the fact they were not due to leave orbit for another few days, Data concluded the scenarios requiring he be monitoring the various scans and probes while making various calculations (most probably pertaining to time restrictions enforced by a radioactive leak or electromagnetic flux of some sort) were most probable.

What he was not expecting, was to be completely blindsided by the tense order from Captain Picard, delivered without the man turning away from the view screen.

“Mr.Data, I need you to send a probe to scan for any signs of life on the outpost.”

It took Data a few seconds to process the order as his neural processors struggled with the implications of it.

He terminated the program which formulated various potential outcomes of his actions on the bridge, along with the one that had kicked in long before his motor functions had responded to the captain’s order, the one that was calculating the likelihood of Geordie’s survival.

While launching the probes, Data took a careful look at the sensor logs which detailed what had befallen the away team.

The details of the collapse of the cavernous system that made up the outpost.

The cave-in which had trapped Geordie and hidden him from the ships sensors, hidden his vital sign from the crew.

The earthquake that had made it impossible for Data to ascertain whether or not his best friend was alive.

It did not occur to Data until the away team was beamed back to the enterprise unscathed that he hadn’t spared a thought for Riker or Barclay, both men he would have considered to be his friends also. An intriguing matter, one Data wanted to look into before bringing it up with Geordie.

ii) when he acted without thinking (more than once)

Data had extensive experience in the science field, so when the majority of the science department were beamed planetside by a species of unknown intentions, it only made sense that Data be assigned to the ecological research team that were to beam down and learn all they could about the planet while a smaller away team attempted to retrieve the science department. Data could not see why Geordie insisted on beaming down, as he had neither experience with ecological research nor extensive search and rescue training, but Geordie insisted nonetheless.

Data’s memory banks suddenly assaulted him with images of Geordie in sick bay, in various states of physical and mental stability after away missions gone wrong while Data had been unable to assist him. Before he could stop himself, he found himself making a proposal for Geordie to join the research team, highlighting the importance of having someone well versed in physics while exploring the surface of the planet so that variables such as atmospheric pressure and wind patterns may be accounted for as much as possible while making notes on the planet’s ecology.

His lengthy explanation was cut off by the familiar pressure and warmth of Geordie’s hand patting his shoulder before settling just at the junction between his shoulder and neck, the warmth from the palm of his hand seeping into his circuitry and spreading a pleasant sensation throughout his body. “I’ll join your team, Data, no need to try and convince me.” His friend’s smile jolted another wave of warmth round his circuits, and while Geordie listened to Commander Riker’s plan for the retrieval of the scientists, Data ran another diagnostic on his thermal regulators, and one on his memory recall systems, only for them to show no signs of malfunction. “Hey, where are you, Data?” Geordie’s voice snapped him out of his reverie, wherein he had just begun to compare his responses to stimuli provided by Geordie to stimuli from his other friends, theorising perhaps it was the nature of his relationship with the chief engineer that was the cause of these flushes.

“I am in the briefing room, along with the rest of the crew who are due to be transported planetside.” Was his response to Geordie’s inquiry, but his friend’s bemused smile and good-natured laugh told Data the question had not been literal long before Geordie mentioned it being another one of those ‘figures of speech’ Data just couldn’t seem to get the hang of. He made a mental note to ask Geordie to assist him in further research into the use of such colloquialisms.

Geordie had removed his hand while they made their way to the transporters, resulting in a chill running through his sensory systems. Data filed the sensation away to run in comparison to his responses to similar withdrawals of stimuli from his other friends. 

O’Brien engaged in some tense small talk with the two away teams, reminding them they would need their tricorders operating at full capacity in order to boost their signals in the event of an abduction similar to the science crew’s. 

Data acknowledged O’Brien’s cautions with a fractional incline of his head, fiddling with a tricorder he, oddly, couldn’t remember picking up.

“Hey, Data, I know how to calibrate my own tricorder.” Geordie did not look angry; if Data had to guess, he would’ve said the look on Geordie’s face was amusement. Data blinked once, then looked down at his own tricorder, hanging from his hip. Looking back at the tricorder in his hands, he began to run yet another diagnostic on his memory banks.

“My apologies, Geordie.” He handed back the tricorder, a slight frown tugging at his mouth. “I...” He paused for a moment, paying particularly close attention to the result of his internal scan. All clear. “I did not think before acting.”

Geordie shook his head, but his smile never faltered. “That’s not like you, Data.” He clapped his friend’s upper arm briefly before hopping onto the transporter pad. “Thanks anyway.” His smile widened before he nodded at O’Brien and was beamed down.

Data decided he would have Geordie take an objective look at his circuitry later that evening.

iii) when he risked violating the prime directive

It had been two hours since the entrance to the cave had collapsed, trapping Geordie inside, alone. He had lost all communications with the rest of the away team, the Enterprise’s scanners were unable to penetrate the strange, rock-like substance the surface of the planet seemed to be covered in. 

Data and the rest of the small away team had been in disguise as the native species while they attempted to take some samples of the very rock that had condemned Geordie to his confinement. Data had attempted to convey the situation to the nearest village, but was unsuccessful, considering they had not yet developed an effective means of communication, making it impossible for Data to secure their assistance.

He had initially disregarded the option of using his phaser to burn a hole in through the dirt surrounding the cave-in to prevent further danger to Geordie as it would risk violating the prime directive. He had established almost immediately prior to his first encounter with Geordie that under no circumstances could he die while Data had the capability to prevent that outcome. Data’s neural pathways lit up with a continuous, almost painful feedback loop as he was confronted with this paradox.

The prime directive must not be violated. To rescue Geordie, one must violate the prime directive. Geordie must be saved.

He had not noticed Riker taking his phaser from his hand, he had not noticed him giving an order for transport, he had not yet worked his way through the paradox.

He could just about make out the transporter room fizzling into his view before the pain pulsed through his entire body before he shut down, unable to solve the problem.

....

When he was reactivated, Data felt the familiar warm sensation throughout his entire mainframe a few milliseconds before he registered Geordie’s hands frantically darting around his head, where he could tell his access terminals were wide open and under intense scrutiny by his friend. “I seem to have returned to an operable state, Geordie. How long were was it before the Enterprise could retrieve you?”

“Data!” Geordie’s exclamation of his name should have left Data confused as to why his friend had not answered his question, but instead, the relief he could hear in Geordie’s voice was... almost comforting. The thought puzzled Data. How could he be comforted if he had experienced no upset?

Mirroring Geordie’s hand on his shoulder, Data accidentally applied more pressure than anticipated on the engineer’s shoulder, and before he knew it, the android found himself completely engulfed by Geordie, his system flushed almost scalding hot, and his arms moved up to press Geordie closer, closer, until his friend started to mutter something about not being able to breathe properly. Data attempted to relinquish his hold on Geordie entirely, but Geordie kept his arms firmly around him as he sighed, “We thought we’d lost you, Data.”

“And I thought I had lost you, Geordie.” Data frowned. He had, once again, acted without thought. He had meant the words, but he had not processed them before delivering them. “Geordie, I have been experiencing-“

When Geordie drew back from their embrace, frowning and reaching for his scanner, a constant stream of questions for Data regarding his recent malfunctions, Data felt... bereft. Cold. The lack of contact with Geordie had returned his systems to their usual, less comforting temperature, and the worry in Geordie’s posture and words had chilled Data. It made sense, therefore, to initiate further contact with the human.

Data wrapped his arms around Geordie, clutching his hands together just below his diaphragm, and rested his chin on his shoulder, watching closely as the engineer’s hands fumbled with the familiar scanner before coming to a halt. “Data?” Geordie sounded even more tense, which did not make sense. The lack of physical contact between Data and Geordie had seemed to distress them both, particularly in this encounter, and Data had thought that by initiating a more intimate contact would result in a positive reaction from both of them.

He decided to make one suggestion before he withdrew completely, worried if he removed contact with Geordie without warning it might upset the human further. “Geordie, would you consent to being kissed by me?”

When his question was met by silence, Data moved to extract himself from Geordie’s quarters, but the well-known sense of warmth flooded him as Geordie grabbed him by the crook of his elbow and applied pressure intended to turn Data around to face him. He complied.

When Geordie’s lips connected with his, the sensations were something similar yet different to that provided by the other forms of contact they had experienced together.

And unlike his recent Geordie-related-malfunctions, Data found himself perfectly within his faculties, able to position his hands with purpose- one at the base of the back of Geordie’s neck in order to hold him close, and one runnng up and down his arm, which seemed to cause Geordie to relax into him. The warm sensations from Geordie’s much more mobile hands complimented the fizzing sensation caused from the new calculations Data had begun: formulating the ideal combined angles of their heads, how much force to use when backing Geordie against the wall in order to better maximise their contact...

Geordie was just glad he had brought Data back to his quarters for repairs instead of Engineering.